


Handcuffs

by raiseyourpinky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Daphne Allen/Castiel - Freeform, F/M, Handcuffs, Inspired by Holiday in Handcuffs, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiseyourpinky/pseuds/raiseyourpinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is two days away, and Dean is losing his mind--literally. Unable to disappoint his parents any further, Dean kidnaps Castiel Novak and forces him to play the role of his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely based on the movie "Holiday in Handcuffs." If you haven't yet seen it, I recommend it. And if you already have seen it and think you know how this story will play out, then you should know it's not entirely like the movie.

**Two days before Christmas…**

The loud irritating noise of the alarm clock woke him up at an ungodly hour. Dean extended his arm until it reached the small electronic device and he found the snooze button. He groaned, rubbing at his eyes. His shitty apartment was colder than usual. The last thing Dean Winchester wanted to do today was get out of bed, especially from under the warm layers of thick blankets on top of him.

He had to get up, though. Dean knew this much. He had a long day ahead of him, and going through the list in his mind made him seriously consider staying in his own little cocoon and blocking out the rest of the world forever.

But that would be a dick move. Granted, Dean was full of flaws, but being a dick was not one of them.

That was what finally got Dean out of bed.

Dean set the coffee maker and waited for the rich black liquid to drip down into his white mug. He yawned, folding his arms in front of him because it was still fucking cold.

After his mug was full, Dean turned off the coffee maker and took a careful sip from his coffee. It was black and bitter, and it scolded his tongue just the right amount.

Dean yawned again as he strode back to his bedroom. He set his mug down on his nightstand and scanned through the pathetic amount of clothing confined in his small closet. He was interrupted by a phone call. Before he even reached for his phone, Dean knew who it was.

“Hi, mom,” Dean said, placing the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he returned to his closet.

“Good morning, Dean.” Mary’s chirpy voice was a comfort in the morning, even though the reason for her phone call wasn’t. “Hope you got enough sleep last night.”

“Yeah,” Dean lied. He’d gotten home at 3:30 A.M. from his shift at the Roadhouse, and his stupid alarm clock woke him up at 6:30 A.M. so no, of course he didn’t get enough sleep. “I was just about to get ready for my interview. That _is_ why you’re calling, isn’t it?”

Mary sighed on the other end of the line. “Dean, I’m just looking out for you. I know you want this job more than anything, and I want you to get it. Remember, your dad put in a good word for you, so you’ve got all the luck on your favor.”

Dean snorted. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure that’s really going to help me. Listen, I gotta finish getting ready or I’m going to be late for my interview.”

“Are you still coming to the cabin at four?” Mary asked. Dean closed his eyes, pressed them tight together, as though that would change anything.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there,” Dean said. _If Benny even agrees to go._ “I’ll go straight from the Roadhouse.”

“Great. Should I set the dinner table for six, or just us five?”

Dean frowned. His family would be expecting him to introduce them to his new boyfriend. They knew nothing about him, and Dean didn’t have a history of serious relationships, so Benny was kind of a big deal. Dean had only been dating him for two months, and he’d kept Benny so far from his family that they didn’t even know his name. Truth was, he didn’t even know if he liked Benny enough to introduce him to his family, much less to spend an entire weekend locked away with him.

On the other hand, Dean was tired of his family looking down on him for not settling down with anyone. They’d never been opposed to his sexual orientation, but they were always bothered by his lack of commitment. Dean just wasn’t _that_ guy. And he didn’t know how to make his parents understand that.

“Make it for six, mom,” Dean finally agreed. “I’m bringing him today.”

“That’s fantastic, son,” Mary said, sounding honestly excited. “I can’t wait to meet this secret man in your life.”

Dean made a strangled noise. “Oh, you’ll…you’ll love him.” _Hopefully enough for the both of us._

“I have no doubt about it,” Mary said. Dean could clearly hear the smile in her lips. At this moment, the prospect of his job interview seemed much simpler than spending the holidays away with his family.

“Well, I’ll let you go,” Dean said. “I need to look decent for this thing.”

“Oh, wear your favorite sweater. The one I bought you with the patch of an angel right in the middle. Oh, Dean, you look lovely in it.”

Dean sighed, reluctantly agreeing to wear that hideous thing in the back of his closet. He bid his mother goodbye and finally got ready for his job interview.

Leviathan Enterprises was easily a ten minute drive from home, so Dean figured that he had time to pick up a donut on the way. He didn’t have food stocked in his fridge at home, and he didn’t think being in an interview with a loud grumbling stomach would make a good impression.

Dean could picture himself working at Leviathan Enterprises. He’d have a nine to five job in a cubicle all of his own, doing the same thing, over and over, for the rest of his life. The thought induced a tiny shiver from him, and it swelled up in his throat in the form of a knot. He knew any job at that fancy building would grant him way more than what he was making at the Roadhouse, even when he got good tips. But the more he thought about being chained to an uncomfortable chair in front of a computer screen for eight straight hours, the more he felt like he was condemning himself to a jail sentence.

He shook off the miserable thought and got back in his Impala. He still had fifteen minutes to spare before his interview. Dean set out to the road in his shiny car and waited behind a long trail of unmoving vehicles.

“Why the hell aren’t we moving?” Dean mumbled, sticking his neck out of the car window. Up front, he noticed two cars had recently crashed. It wasn’t a big deal, just hood to bumper contact, but they apparently refused to move until the cops arrived. Dean groaned in desperation. “What a lucky fucking day.”

Twenty minutes later, Dean had finally made it to the fifteen-floor skyscraper where Leviathan Enterprises resided. God even the business name was obnoxious. Dean took the stairs up to the seventh floor, where his meeting was being held. He figured his legs would be faster than any stupid elevator in the building. His theory might have been correct, but one thing he failed to account for was the sweat factor.

Dean was wearing a suit (without a tie), and the building did a marvelous job at blocking out the freezing cold Kansas winter weather from outside, so by the time he reached the seventh floor, Dean was drenched in sweat. And, quite honestly, he was completely out of breath.

Nonetheless, Dean hadn’t lost his hopes, yet. He went straight to the receptionist, yelling—more like gasping—that his name was Dean Winchester and he had a job interview at 8 A.M. and he knew he was ten minutes late, but dammit he was there now.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Winchester,” the receptionists said, in a tone that led Dean to believe she wasn’t sorry at all. “But Mr. Novak is already seeing his next interviewee. He couldn’t wait for you.”

Dean blinked, and his eyes fucking burned when that one drop of sweat fell into them. “Well, can’t he see me after this interview, or at lunch? I got all day.”

The receptionist—Becky, according to her badge—frowned and shook her head. “Again, I’m very sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do to help you.” She paused, glancing at Dean’s sweaty image. “You can help yourself to a cup of water in the corner. Free of charge.” Becky smiled, looking satisfied with her remark. _I_ can _afford a cup of water, thank you very much._

Dean scowled at Becky before he turned and reluctantly headed for the water. Dean took his tiny paper cup and filled it up with water, drinking it slowly. The water could have as easily been poison because it was making Dean sick. Maybe it was just the anger. What a fucking douchebag, whoever that Mr. Novak was. His dad had put in a good word for him, but John didn’t know a Mr. Novak. Of course! There must have been a mistake.

Tossing the paper cup into the trash, Dean turned back around and headed to the receptionist again. “Hi. Okay, I think you got me confused. My dad arranged the interview with Michael Milton. I don’t know who this Mr. Novak is, but I’m clearly not here to see him.”

Becky pursed her lips into a tight line. “Mr. Milton had to leave unexpectedly on a family emergency, and Mr. Novak filled in for him. So, _clearly_ , you _were_ here to see him. But I’ll say it again, if it makes you feel better. Mr. Novak will not see you today. Very sorry.”

Dean busted into laughter, sounding clinically insane. Maybe he was. After all, he wanted to work in this place.

The door behind Becky’s office opened and a woman walked out, turning to thank Mr. Novak before shutting the door behind her. Dean looked at Becky, and she narrowed her eyes on him, warily. He didn’t hesitate any longer. Dean moved swiftly next to Becky’s desk and barged into the office that belonged to none other than Mr. Novak Fancypants.

Dean locked the door behind him, and Becky knocked on it, coming to the rescue of the man sitting calmly behind a large wooden desk.

Mr. Novak picked up his landline and dialed a quick number. “Yes. No, I think I will be alright. Thank you for your concern, Ms. Rosen.” He hung up the phone and folded his hands on the table. Dean took a minute to notice that Mr. Novak had eyes too big and blue to be proportionate or real. And despite his suit (with a blue tie) he had a perfectly long head of tussled hair that Dean could have sworn Mr. Novak woke up with and simply didn’t bother to tame.

Dean took a few steps towards Mr. Novak, cautiously so. “Hi, there,” he said, offering his best grin; the toothy Colgate Winchester charm of a smile that helped him pick up women at bars on several occasions.

The other man didn’t change his firm expression. He simply stared at Dean with those ridiculous pair of eyes. “Can I help you?” Mr. Novak said, his voice deep and gruff.

“Actually, yes,” Dean said. “Can I sit down?”

Mr. Novak blinked, not smoothening any of his features. _Whoa, who put that stick up your ass, Mr. Fancypants?_

“I’m going to sit down anyway,” Dean said, taking the seat in front of Mr. Novak’s desk. “Why don’t we start over? My name is Dean Winchester. I don’t intend to give excuses for me showing up late. I don’t want to take up any of your time, but I just need you to give me another chance. I’m here on behalf of John Winchester. He’s friends with Michael Milton, and I was meant to see him today. I hope you can give me another chance, Mr. Novak.”

Mr. Novak tilted his head to the side, blinking again. “Are you suggesting I break the rules to play favorites?”

“No, not at all,” Dean said quickly. “I’m already here, so why don’t we just get to the interview. I’m sure I’d make a great fit at Leviathan Enterprises, and I—”

“I never agreed to start the interview,” Mr. Novak interrupted, cutting Dean off midway.

“Oh.”

“Please leave, Mr. Winchester, before I call security to escort you out.”

“But I—”

“Now.”

Dean gaped at the man behind the large desk. “Okay. Whatever. Goodbye.”

Mr. Novak’s stiff posture didn’t change as Dean got up and left the office, closing the door behind him.

Becky Rosen was staring daggers at Dean when he came back outside, and he ignored the curious gazes of the other people on the waiting area. If they were all going in to see Mr. Novak, Dean wished them all the luck in the world. All the luck that was simply not his.

***

The Roadhouse was packed today. It was no surprise, since many people preferred going out for drinks instead of going last minute shopping or caroling or following any of the customary Christmas traditions.

Dean stood behind the counter, ready to serve as many drinks as people requested. Ash was already hard at work, preparing a couple martinis.

“Hey, man, you didn’t have to dress up for me,” Ash said, observing Dean’s unusual attire. Dean had put on his angel sweater on top of his suit, so he looked (and felt) like hell.

Dean let out a tired breath before taking the next order. “I fucked up my interview this morning.”

“Maybe it was the sweater,” Ash offered, laughing.

Dean rolled his eyes, handing his customer the drinks they ordered. “It’s not like I was dying to work at that damn place.”

“I hear they kill puppies.”

“And souls,” Dean agreed, preparing the next order. “Speaking of destroying souls, I might have promised my parents I’d bring Benny to spend the holiday with us up in that cabin they always get. I don’t get why they think it’s a good idea to lock themselves up in a cabin during the winter. I’m surprised we haven’t killed each other in the past.”

“Yeah, weird family,” Ash said, fixing a drink of his own. “Are you sure Benny will even want to go to this thing? I didn’t think you were all that into him.”

Dean shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know what I’m gonna do, man.”

“Hey, speak of the devil.”

“What?” Dean looked up, at the direction Ash was facing. Benny walked in, approaching the counter in front of Dean.

“Dean,” Benny said, and Dean didn’t miss the sourness in his voice. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Uh, me, too,” Dean said. “Ash, can you take over while I go talk to Benny?”

Ash nodded. “Sure thing, man. I got you covered.”

Dean walked around the counter and followed Benny to an empty table. They sat rigidly across each other. “What’s up?”

“Why don’t you go first?” Benny said, slowly.

“Oh. I guess I should. I don’t know why I’ve been avoiding telling you this, but I kind of promised my parents you’d come up to the cabin with us for Christmas. So they’re expecting you for dinner today.”

“What?” Benny said, honestly surprised.

“It’s not that loud, Benny, I’m sure you heard me.”

Benny sat back in his chair, shaking his head and smiling without contentment. “Dean, this is crazy. I don’t even know where this is coming from. Why don’t we just say things how they are? Loud and clear, alright? You don’t like me, I don’t like you. It’s over. Don’t try to force something more out of whatever it is we have.”

Benny’s words came at Dean like sharp knives. All he could do was stare at him.

“I gotta be somewhere right now,” Benny said, getting up. “Take care, Dean.”

“Take care,” Dean whispered, staring at the salt shaker on the table.

Dean got up, walked back behind the counter and stared ahead of him, ignoring the waiting customers.

Ash tapped on his shoulder. “You okay, Dean?”

Through the same doors that Benny had just exited, Dean recognized the man who entered the bar. Dean took a moment to realize this was the last place he thought he’d ever seen Mr. Novak again. What was a man like that doing at a bar— _at noon_? It certainly didn’t fit his whole persona. Dean took notice of his long tan trenchcoat.

Mr. Novak walked up to the bar, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone rather than where he was going. “Two beers,” he said to no one in particular. Dean shared an annoyed glance with Ash. He’d had enough rude customers to take offense this time. Even if this was the same Fancypants who cut him off for fighting for a job he didn’t even want.

“Coming right up,” Dean said, filling up the glasses. Dean set both glasses on the counter and slid them closer to Mr. Novak. The man took out a twenty dollar bill and took his drinks without ever looking up. Dean watched him go, and a quick (quite possibly insane) thought ran through his mind as he watched Mr. Novak head to an empty table.

Ash was trying to get his attention, but Dean had stopped listening. He turned around and went into Ellen’s empty office. Dean knew it was empty because she was on vacation. Dean also knew the office had a revolver inside her desk. It wasn’t loaded, but he knew it was there. Ellen had shown it to him. It meant no harm. It’d been a gift from her father, and she thought it was good luck to keep in her desk.

Dean allowed his insanity to lead him through his actions as he found the revolver and put it in the waist of his slacks. Dean was crazy, absolutely crazy, but it was how far he would go along with this that he wanted to find out, would find out.

Mr. Novak was still staring at the screen of his cell phone, and Dean waited outside of Ellen’s office. He waited for the right time. He waited for what his insanity would lead him to do.

He didn’t have to wait long. Mr. Novak placed his phone into the pocket of his trenchcoat and a few seconds later, removed said coat and hung it carefully on his chair. He sat firmly at his table, tapping his fingers on the wood. After a single sip of his beer, Mr. Novak got up, heading to the restrooms. Dean watched him go in. When Mr. Novak came back out, Dean was waiting outside the door.

Mr. Novak jumped at the sight of Dean. His brows furrowed, creasing significantly. “Mr. Winchester, what a surprise.”

Dean grinned broadly. His insanity had finally reached its peak. “Come with me. Outside.”

“No,” Mr. Novak said, sounding nearly offended at Dean’s request.

“Please?” Dean said, lifting his sweater enough for Mr. Novak to see the revolver that was hidden in the waist of his pants.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Novak said, alarm in his eyes. “Where did you get that?”

Dean smiled, reaching for his gun. He pressed the tip of the gun to Mr. Novak’s stomach, and the other man flinched. “Outside,” Dean repeated.

Mr. Novak nodded, turning slowly around so he could walk out through the back door. Mr. Novak opened the door that led out to the bright sunny winter day. The parking lot in the back was empty this early in the day. Dean guided Mr. Novak to the Impala, where Mr. Novak halted outside the passenger door.

“Don’t do this,” Mr. Novak begged, in a quiet voice. A voice of defeat and fear.

“I need your help,” Dean said, opening the door for him. “Get in.”

Mr. Novak looked back to the Roadhouse. “But I am expecting someone. They will come looking for me.”

“Not where I’m taking you,” Dean said.

“I have money,” Mr. Novak said. “I’ll give you my wallet. If you want my phone, it’s inside, in my coat. Please, take it.”

Dean shook his finger, leaning against the Impala. “That’s not going to work for me. I need _you_. Get in the car. Don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”

Mr. Novak glanced back at the revolver that was still pointed at him, and he swallowed before getting in the Impala.

Dean rushed to the driver’s seat and climbed in the car, still pointing the gun to Mr. Novak. Dean figured he couldn’t drive and hold the gun the entire time, so he lunged forward. Dean rounded his hands around Mr. Novak’s neck, and the other man jumped again.

“Calm down, I just need your tie,” Dean said. He loosened the tie and then removed it from his neck. “Gotta tie you up so you don’t go out running like a chicken without its head.”

“What exactly is your aim here, Mr. Winchester?” he asked as Dean tied his hands to the hanger on the car. “Because if you don’t want my money then I don’t see what—wait a minute, is this a form of vengeance? It is, isn’t it? You are angry about this morning. And now what are you going to do? _Kill me?_ ”

“Give me a break, man. I didn’t want the job _that_ bad.”

Mr. Novak scowled. “Then let me go.”

“Can’t do that now,” Dean said. It was true. If he’d gone this far, he might as well go all the way.

“Where are you taking me? It doesn’t matter. Wherever you take me they will find me.”

Dean chuckled and patted the other man’s shoulder. “We’ll see.”

“You’re a sociopath, you know,” Mr. Novak said as Dean pulled out of the Roadhouse. “I shouldn’t pay the price for you not taking your meds today.”

“Hey, lighten up. Look at it this way. You get a holiday resort at an abandoned cabin miles from town and I’ll throw in a free friendship so you’ll stop being so grumpy.”

Mr. Novak scuffed. “This is absurd. You are _kidnapping_ me. I have a right to be grumpy.”

Dean put a tape into his cassette player and soft rock started playing through the speakers. It was soothing, despite the situation he’d recently caused.

“Why don’t we get to know each other better? We have a long ride ahead of us.”

Mr. Novak was silent, staring out the window on his side.

“Okay,” Dean said. “I’ll start. My name is Dean Winchester, but you already knew that. I work at the Roadhouse, though I’m probably fired by now. I like to golf. And I fucking hate the clothes I’m wearing.”

“Hmm.”

Dean turned to Mr. Novak. He was still staring outside. He was angry, and for a good reason. “What’s your name?”

After a minute, Dean thought he’d never respond. Until he did.

“Castiel,” he said. “Castiel Novak.”

Dean nodded. “Grumpy name for a grumpy man. Fitting.”

Castiel turned to Dean just to roll his eyes.

“What’s your story?” Dean pushed. “We really have a long drive ahead.”

Castiel refused to speak anymore, so Dean spoke for the both of them.

“I know who you are. You were born rich, will marry rich, and will die rich. You get anything you want handed to you on a silver platter, and you don’t like to brush your hair. Am I right or am I right?”

“Intelligent assumptions, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean.”

Castiel sighed. “Will you tell me where you are taking me now?”

“Oh, you’re going to spend Christmas with me and my family in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. And you’re going to hate every second of it, trust me.”

“And how exactly do you plan on reasoning my being there?” Castiel asked, honestly curious.

Dean shrugged. “You’re going to pretend to be my date.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “So _that_ ’s what this is all about.”

“Maybe.”

“You got dumped, didn’t you?”

“I could have dumped him first,” Dean said, trying to save the remains of his honor. “If it wasn’t for this stupid family thing.”

“You maniac.”

Dean smiled. “Insult me all you want. You’re going to have to play along with me or I shoot you.”

Castiel turned to Dean, frowning. “Seriously? You’d kill me over this?”

Dean kept driving. He glanced at the revolver that sat against his thigh on the seat. Even if the thing was loaded of course he’d never use it.

“It’s not loaded,” Dean confessed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re still a maniac.”

“I bet you’ve had worse.”

Castiel was quiet for a moment before a tiny ghost of a smile sprouted on his lips. “You know, as soon as we get to your family, I will tell them what you did, and I’ll be able to go home.”

“Already worked that out,” Dean lied. _Fuck._

That wasn’t Dean’s only problem. His tank was running on empty. His poor Impala was a brave girl but she wouldn’t go on much longer without filling her up. Dean pulled up at the gas station closest to the cabin. It was empty, thankfully. Dean parked the car and got out, hoping he could make this quick and without having to go into the store.

The gas pumps were ancient, though, and they didn’t take credit cards. Dean let out a long breath as he stepped inside the store. A woman sat behind the counter, flipping through a magazine. Dean got a few bags of chips and sodas for the rest of the drive and then requested a full tank.

Behind the woman Dean spotted a box of—well, would you look at that. Perfect timing—pink furry handcuffs.

“Can I get the cuffs, too?” Dean asked.

The woman blinked at him. “You kidding me?”

“What? I got money.”

“And you clearly got some kinks,” she added. She looked out the window, and when she spotted Castiel, still tied to the car, she looked to Dean for explanations.

“Really?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s a new experience every day.”

The woman smiled, something encouraging. “Good for you. Name’s Ruby. And the cuffs are on me.” Ruby picked up the box with the handcuffs and slid them over to Dean on the counter. Dean took them.

“Alright, then.” Dean handed the woman the money he still owed her and took off.

Castiel was glaring at him from the car. “You are _not_ getting away with this, assbutt.”

Dean laughed. The poor man couldn’t insult him to save his life. “I bought you some food, in case you get hungry, grumpy.” Dean tossed the chips and sodas in through Castiel’s window and went to pump in the gas. Once the tank was full, Dean got behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Luck is on our side, sweetheart,” Dean said, showing Castiel the handcuffs. “Look at that. Pink and furry with a side of humiliation.”

Castiel pulled a face at Dean as he leaned forward and untied his hands. Dean smirked the entire time it took him to pull out the handcuffs and close them around Castiel’s wrists. Castiel made a sound of apparent disgust at the sight of his hands.

“You can’t deny that they’re more comfortable,” Dean said, rolling up the wrinkled tie. “I will iron this when we get to the cabin.”

“You can keep it,” Castiel mumbled, looking out the windshield. “I’m getting out of here as soon as we arrive.”

Dean sighed, getting back on the icy road. “I hate to break it to you, huggy bear. That ain’t happening.”

Castiel didn’t say anything. He refused to eat from the chips or drink from the sodas Dean bought him. Ungrateful bastard, had to be.

As they got closer to the cabin, the snow started filling the roads. Dean was bidding his time because as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t control Castiel. If the man wanted to leave—which he did, obviously—he would take off and Dean would have no way of stopping him. He had to come up with something fast, unless he wanted to ridicule himself in front of his entire family.

When they arrived, the only vehicle Dean spotted outside of the cabin was his parents’ blue Toyota. He brought the Impala to a full stop beside their Toyota and turned to Castiel. “I’m going to go inside really quick. The car is locked and you are cuffed, so would you be a good boy and wait until I get back? There are no roads nearby, or other cabins for miles. If you try to escape you might just freeze.”

Castiel pursed his lips, furrowing his eyebrows with the stubborn action.

“It’s just going to be for two days, then I’ll drop you off wherever you want and we’ll be done with it. Alright?”

“I will make sure you spend the rest of your life in prison like the criminal you are, Mr. Winchester.”

“About that,” Dean said. “Call me Dean. We don’t need to be so formal with each other.”

Castiel scoffed. Dean sighed, turning to trail up the path to the small cabin.

He’d spent so many winters here, secluded from the rest of the world. It was fine when he was four, and he had actual hopes for Christmas. It was also fine when he was twelve because that was the year his parents bought him his first guitar. They thought it was fitting for their son to have a musical inclination, as a hobby, of course. And a hobby it remained.

Poignant smells of cinnamon and freshly baked apple pie filled the room when Dean opened the door, letting himself into the cabin of his childhood.

“Dean? Is that you?” a voice called from the kitchen.

With a bright grin illuminating her features, Mary walked out of the kitchen, followed by John a few feet behind.

“Miss me?” Dean said.

Mary tilted her head, still smiling. She pulled Dean into a warm embrace, and Dean momentarily hid in her long blond locks of hair, trying to find some ground to stand on after the unexpected turn of events from this morning.

When Mary pulled away, John leaned in for a short hug. “Glad you could make it, son. Earlier than usual.”

“Look at your sweater, Dean,” Mary said, chewing off a laugh. “It’s almost identical to the one you cried over when you were five. Oh, when I found it at the store, I was squealing with joy. I knew you’d love it.”

“I do,” Dean said. “Thanks, mom.”

John looked out the window, curiously and searching. “Mary said you were bringing company. Did they bail on you, son?”

Dean bit his tongue to hold back from spilling the whole truth right here. John wasn’t going to be easy to fool. He’d never buy this charade. Mary, on the other hand, would see what she wanted to see. Dean realized he’d already made his bet. All that was left to do was play this game, and play it right.

“No, actually, Castiel is right outside,” Dean said, grinning almost robotically. “He’s very shy, though. He’s really into role playing—” John make a choking noise, but Dean continued. “So we’re doing this whole kidnap thing at the moment, you know, to keep things fresh. He’s going to pretend I kidnapped him and dragged him here against his will, but keep in mind it’s all part of the role play.”

Mary scrunched her eyebrows, concerned. “Does this really work…for the both of you?”

John looked as uncomfortable as Dean suddenly felt. “Dear God, Mary, let’s just go along with this without asking any unnecessary questions.”

“Right,” Mary said. “Well, bring him in.”

Without any further ado, Dean spun around and headed to the Impala. Castiel was still pouting inside the car, looking grumpy as ever. Dean opened the passenger door and offered a friendly smile.

“They’re ready for you,” Dean said.

“Take these things off me,” Castiel demanded, raising his hands in front of him. Dean pulled out the tiny key from his pocket and unlocked the furry handcuffs from Castiel’s wrists. Castiel smoothed his wrists down and glared at Dean. “I hate you.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Castiel pushed Dean aside as he got out of the Impala and rushed inside the cabin, where Mary and John had been waiting to greet him.

“Hi—” Mary started.

“Okay, listen up,” Castiel began, pointing his long index finger to Dean, who was barely catching up to him, closing the door to keep the cold air out. “Your son brought me here at gun point, only to tell me the gun wasn’t loaded halfway down the road. He handcuffed me with these hideous furry handcuffs. If you give me a phone so I can call for help now, I won’t press charges.”

Mary laughed, while John still looked mildly uncomfortable. “That’s very nice, dear,” Mary said. “My name is Mary Winchester. This is my husband, John.”

Running a hand through his short hair, Dean approached Castiel. “Where are my manners? Sorry, mom. This is Castiel Novak. By the way, the furry handcuffs were entirely his idea.”

Castiel scowled at Dean, and for a second, Dean thought Castiel was going to launch himself at him and punch the crap out of him. Fortunately, Castiel’s jaw clenching seemed to take up his time.

“Oh my,” Mary said. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, dear.”

Castiel shook his head, infuriated. “Your son is completely insane!”

“I’m sure that’s what makes this work,” Mary mumbled.

John chuckled halfheartedly. “Can we get you a cup of eggnog?”

Groaning, Castiel threw his hands up in the air. “What the hell did you tell them, Dean?”

“More than we had to know,” John said under his breath. Castiel heard it, anyway.

“You are unbelievable,” Castiel accused, stabbing the same judgmental index finger to Dean’s chest.

Dean captured Castiel’s hands in his own and brought it up to his lips, kissing it. Castiel blinked at him for a moment before jerking his hand away.

A sudden knock on the door interrupted the tension in the room. John opened the door and greeted Sam inside.

Sam, the perfect son, walked inside with a stride worthy of a runway model. His long hazelnut hair ran down to his neck, and it was covered in a soft layer of snow. Sam, the genius—and taller—younger brother, sporting a leather jacket and a scarf around his neck, walked inside with a smile that had actual light shining out of it.

Mary ran up to him and hugged him. Sam laughed, looking actually pleased to be stuck here for the holidays. John did the one-arm hug with Sam, backing away quickly. Their relationship had never been easy, or simple.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said, hugging him last.

“Long time no see.” Dean scratched the back of his head, motioning to Castiel. “This is my…boyfriend, Castiel Novak.”

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. God, did no one truly expect Dean to bring a date along? “Nice meeting you, Castiel. I’m Sam Winchester, the handsome brother.” Castiel shook his hand when Sam extended it, but he looked bitter doing it.

“Would you believe me if I told you that your brother kidnapped me and brought me here against my will?” Castiel asked, hopelessly.

Sam turned to Dean, looking so serious that Dean almost thought his plan was going to fail after all. “He’s…charming,” Sam finally said.

“He’s an even better kisser,” Dean said, poking Castiel’s side. The other man shot him another glare, and Dean decided it might be best to keep his hands to himself from now on.

“So, what’s for dinner?” Sam asked, heading into the kitchen with John and Mary.

Turning to Castiel, Dean frowned. “I promise these two days will just fly by and you’ll be home safe and sound.”

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Winchester.”

“Alright, let’s make a deal,” Dean said. “You start calling me Dean, and I start calling you Cas. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.”

“I don’t want to do this at all!” Castiel snapped.

Another knock on the door startled Dean. He went to open the door. Uncle Bobby came rushing in, taking a long swig from his silver flask. “Where’s the eggnog?” he asked.

“Kitchen, I’m sure.”

“Fantastic,” Bobby grunted.

Dean offered his hand. “Come with?”

Castiel folded his arms and shook his head.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself.” Dean turned and walked to the kitchen, when he heard something roll from Castiel’s lips that made him pause. “What?” Dean asked, turning around.

“Don’t kiss me again, alright?” Castiel requested quietly.

“Alright,” Dean agreed, shrugging.

***

After dinner, and a very nice dinner for that matter, Sam and Bobby turned in early. Dean caught Castiel yawning at the table, but he feared that he’d try to run away through the night. And if he did, then Dean would have no way to stop him. Maybe it was better to just let him go. Even if that meant looking batshit crazy in front of his family.

What had Dean been thinking? Everything he’d done was batshit crazy.

“I’ll do the dishes,” Dean offered, gathering the plates from the table.

“Let me help you,” Mary said, picking up the empty glasses.

John dragged Castiel to the living room while Dean and Mary took care of the dishes. As Dean scrubbed and Mary dried, Dean thought to take the opportunity to request something.

“Can I be the, uh, Keymaster?”

“Really?” Mary wondered, taking a plate from Dean. “You never liked the idea of Keymaster.”

“I know, but I’d like to try it this year.”

“Okay.” Mary pulled out a plastic bag from the freezer, full of everyone’s keys. Dean knew where to hide them. He thought it’d be safer that way.

“Thanks, mom.”

Mary smiled. “Castiel doesn’t seem to like us a lot.”

“Did it seem that way?” Dean asked. Castiel hadn’t made any effort to talk to anyone during dinner. He just ate in absolute silence. When asked a question, he either nodded or shook his head. Dean had to jump in and make something up so Castiel wouldn’t come off as arrogant.

“Do you really care about him?” Mary asked. It came unexpectedly, her question. Dean could fake a lot of things, but caring about someone he hardly knew, someone who denied him the chance for a better job, well that was hard to do.

Dean took a breath, finishing up with the last glass. “I’ve only been dating him two months. We get along just fine when we’re alone together. That’s all that matters, right?”

Placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder, Mary appeared to try to comfort him. “I’m sorry about the interview. I’ll get your dad to make another call to Michael.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it. I’m happy at the Roadhouse.”

“If that’s what you really want, then I support your decision,” Mary said, earnestly. Yeah, she might support his decision, but did she agree with him? Did John agree with any of this? Dean had always sought his parents’ approval, but it was hardly ever given to him. Instead, he received looks of pity from them. They pitied his sorry life.

Mary turned to walk out into the living room when Dean called for her.

“Can Cas and I stay in the same room? I hope that’s not weird for anyone,” Dean added.

“Sure,” Mary said, not at all bothered by his request. “I’ll go get the room ready.”

With his head resting on his hand, plowed on the arm of the couch, Castiel listened as John told him stories of his past. They were the same stories John used to tell Dean and Sam when they were kids. Stories that portrayed John as a courageous fearless man. Dean never knew if the stories held any true value to them, but they made Mary smile every time John told them.

To rescue Castiel from absolute boredom, Dean stood in front of him on the couch. “Want to go to sleep?”

John cleared his throat. “I guess it _is_ getting late.” John checked his watch-less wrist and got up. “I’m going to turn in, too. Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Winchester,” Castiel offered. His lids seemed heavy, and Castiel rubbed at his weary eyes. “Okay. Where’s my room?”

“Follow me,” Dean said, heading down the hallway where the bedrooms lied. Dean’s room was the last one to the right. It was the one across from Sam. They were close as kids. Right up until Sam decided to do something with his life—like go to law school and become the pride and joy of his family.

Dean opened the door and switched the light on. Castiel stared at the cozy-looking room. There was a Queen Size bed in the middle of the room, with a large white comforter and three pillows. Dean’s suitcase was at the foot of the bed, and Dean picked it up.

“I have some pajamas in here that might fit you,” Dean offered. “I’m sure you want to get out of your clothes, so have at it.”

Castiel blinked. “If I’m sleeping here, then where are _you_ going to sleep?”

“The bed’s big enough?” Dean said, with a question mark obvious at the end.

Dean thought Castiel was going to finally run out on him, once and for all. Instead, the other man let out a breath of reluctance. “Fine. Give me the pajamas. I’m changing in the bathroom.”

***

It was dark in the bedroom, and Dean couldn’t sleep. He felt guilty, for everything he’d done. Castiel was probably missing his family, people back home. Dean had no right to take him away from his life because he didn’t want to disappoint his parents. That was the epitome of selfishness…and insanity.

Castiel had placed the third pillow between them, dividing their space. Dean stopped to wonder if Castiel was even into dudes. It wasn’t like Dean had been thinking clearly when he did what he did. Maybe Castiel found Dean repulsive. Maybe the other man just didn’t swing that way, and that was part of why he was so pissed about being forced to pretend to be Dean’s partner.

Hell, if that was the case, Dean wouldn’t blame him.

Yawning, Dean turned on the bed, pulling the covers up to his nose.

“Excuse me,” Castiel protested, yanking the covers back to him, uncovering Dean.

“What the hell man? I need my blanket. It’s fucking cold.”

“Well, you took it from me before,” Castiel said in a hushed voice. “I was just taking it back.”

Dean couldn’t see Castiel, or any of his features, but he felt the sink of Castiel’s weight on his left side of the bed. “If you took the pillow away, maybe we could get more of the blanket for us.”

“No,” Castiel said sternly. “The pillow stays. I don’t trust you.”

“What? You think I’m going to take advantage of you while you sleep?” Dean said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Dean didn’t think Castiel could seriously believe that Dean was capable of such a thing. Although, it probably never occurred to Castiel that the man he refused to interview would later kidnap him.

“The fact that you’re keeping me here against my will leaves a lot of chances open for what you could do to harm me further.”

“I thought we already settled that I wasn’t planning on shooting you,” Dean said, feeling frustrated. “I’m not some killer. I just panicked.”

Castiel was quiet for a moment, and Dean thought he’d fallen asleep, but then he said, “When I panic, I usually just ramble on about nonsense.”

Dean smiled. “There are two kinds of people.” Dean yawned again, feeling exhausted enough to sleep. He turned on his side, his back to Castiel, as he attempted to sleep.

“I’m going to make sure you stay in locked in prison, you know,” Castiel said, but Dean was too tired to care about the threat.

“I’m sure you will,” Dean slurred. “For now, you better get comfortable. I’m the Keymaster. I’m in charge of all the keys and cell phones, and I hid them all very well, thank you very much.”

“You ass,” Castiel muttered.

Dean might have responded to Castiel’s new insult, but sleep finally won over.

***

There was lightness to the bed that automatically woke Dean up. He felt the pillow between him and Castiel, except he didn’t sense Castiel’s presence. Dean turned on the lamp on his nightstand and sat up. And just as predicted, Castiel’s side of the bed was empty.

“Shit.” Dean threw his heaviest coat on and put his boots on, rushing out the door. Outside, the wind was blowing with a mighty speed, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood, alerted of the cold weather. “Damn it, Castiel.”

There wasn’t a Castiel anywhere near, except for a set of footsteps leading down to the road where they’d come from. Castiel had made a run for it, and Dean had two choices: letting him go and fessing up to his family, or getting in his Impala and trying to find Castiel before he froze to death. For the sake of Castiel, and Dean’s peace of mind that he never be called a murderer, he got in the Impala and followed the footsteps on the snow.

Nearly a mile down the road—which was pretty impressive—Castiel was still stubbornly making his way down the road. Dean pulled up beside him, but Castiel kept walking. He’d taken one of Dean’s spare coats and a scarf, but he had no gloves on, and his cheeks were almost blue from the cold.

Dean rolled down the passenger side window to try to talk sense to the guy. “You’ve been walking for too long, I’m sure,” Dean called out the window.

Castiel kept his eyes ahead of him, marking every footstep with little apparent tremors. The man was going to fucking freeze and it would all be Dean’s fault.

“Get in the car, man. We’ll get you back home and you can get some hot chocolate. Better yet, some eggnog. I’ll spike it more for you.”

Castiel said nothing, just kept walking. Dean had to keep up with him in his car, driving at 5mph.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean said. “You’re going to die out here. The gas station we stopped at is the closest thing you’ll find, but that’s still far away from here. And it’s probably closed right now. Just get in the car. I’ll take you home.”

With that, Castiel finally stopped. He shivered as he turned to Dean. “You’ll take me back home?”

Dean swallowed, guilt rising up in his throat like bile. “Back to the cabin,” Dean said.

“Fuck you,” Castiel said, continuing on his path.

“Don’t make me beg, Cas!” Dean shouted out the passenger window. “Get in the car or you’re going to freeze out here. I will take you home after Christmas, and then you can take your vengeance. I don’t care what you do. I just don’t want you to die on me.”

Castiel stopped, again, and turned to glare at Dean the same way he’d done all day. Dean came to a full stop in the Impala, too, and Castiel finally climbed in.

In complete silence, Dean drove them back to the cabin. “You want that eggnog, then?” Dean asked, hopefully.

Castiel grunted, climbing out of the Impala and pacing back to the cabin.

Dean sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

**One day before Christmas…**

His phone started vibrating inside of his pocket, and Dean fished it out before anyone could notice. If anyone was even up, yet, which he highly doubted.

Dean ran outside, out to the snowy morning. It was Ash. Fuck. Dean didn’t want to leave the guy worried, though, so he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, man,” Ash said, the sound of a busy morning at the Roadhouse was heard in the background. “I was just calling ‘cause you disappeared on me yesterday. What was with the sudden Houdini act?”

Dean chuckled. “I think I might have had some sort of nervous meltdown.”

“What do you mean?” Ash asked, concerned.

“Well, for starters, I stole Ellen’s revolver from her office.”

“You what?”

Dean nodded, aware that Ash couldn’t see the action. “And then I used it to threaten one of our customers into pretending he was my partner. I also drove him to the cabin. I know how crazy this sounds, but I think I have this under control now.”

“ _What the fuck?_ ”

Dean winced. “I know.”

“Dean, man, really? Hell, if you’d asked nicely I would have gone with you to the cabin. Or you could have gotten an escort, I don’t know, but you gotta realize there were so many better options than kidnapping a person.”

“I did what I did, and now I’m stuck in this mess,” Dean sighed.

“You have to let the guy go, Dean,” Ash said, sounding angry. “It’s a really shitty plan, and you know it’s all going to fall over sooner or later.”

“I don’t have a plan, asshole. I’m just making it up as I go.”

Ash snorted. “You poor bastard.”

“Hey, ease it on the insults. I already did the crime, might as well enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Is he even gay?”

Dean laughed. “I don’t fucking know, and I don’t intend to find out. I’m not interested in him.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just using the man. He’s a means to an end.”

“He’s a rich douchebag,” Dean said, hoping that that one fact excused the entire ordeal he was guilty of.

“Let him go, Dean,” Ash said.

Dean sighed. “I’m going to let you go. It’s freezing out here. Bye, Ash. Oh, and don’t tell Ellen about her gun. I will give it back to her after Christmas.”

“You better. Bye, Dean.”

Dean put his phone in the back pocket of his jeans and went back inside. A smell of scrambled eggs and hot chocolate guided him into the kitchen. Mary was serving Castiel a plate of breakfast.

“How’d you sleep last night, sweet pea?” Dean asked.

“Heavenly,” Castiel responded bitterly, taking a sip of orange juice.

Dean noticed that Castiel had changed from the pajamas Dean let him borrow to the slacks and white button t-shirt he’d been wearing the day before.

Mary tilted her head, noticing Castiel’s clothes at the same time Dean had. “Did you sleep in _that_ last night, Castiel?”

Castiel glanced down at his outfit. “No, but I don’t have any of my clothes with me.”

“He forgot his suitcase,” Dean pitched in.

“I left everything at the Roadhouse,” Castiel said, staring at Dean with a hint of a smile. “In fact, I’d like to call someone to bring my suitcase here. Could I borrow your phone, Dean?”

Dean frowned, mockingly sympathetic. “I didn’t bring my cell phone, angel. Sorry.”

“Yes you did,” Castiel said, quirking up an eyebrow, almost defiantly. “It’s in your ass.”

Mary nearly choked on her orange juice. “Dean,” she said, once composed. “You were supposed to put all the cell phones away with the keys.”

“I guess I forgot,” Dean said, pulling out his old Blackberry.

Shaking her head, Mary glanced back at Castiel. “I’ll go see if I can find some of John’s clothes to spare.”

“Actually, mom, Cas can just wear my clothes,” Dean offered. “What’s mine is yours,” he told Castiel.

“Oh, alright, then.” Mary took another drink from her orange juice. “I’ll go wake up your father. He wanted to sleep in a while longer.” Mary turned and left the room, while Castiel stared at him, daringly.

Castiel leaned closer to Dean across the counter. “Dean, give me the phone.”

“No way, sweet cheeks.”

Reaching out, Castiel tried to snatch Dean’s phone from his hands. “Give it to me.”

“Come and get it, then,” Dean said.

Castiel made a sudden move to his right and Dean moved to his right at the same time. Castiel ran to catch Dean around the counter, but Dean laughed as he ran away from Castiel’s reach.

“I wasn’t nicknamed Speedy Gonzales at school for nothing,” Dean said, pausing only to still find himself across the counter from Castiel.

“Some people called me the Roadrunner,” Castiel shot back.

Dean threw his head back in laughter. “That’s something.”

Castiel’s lips quirked up, just slightly. “I’m going to get you, Coyote.”

“Good, because I’m waiting.”

Castiel ran again, and Dean ran faster, just circling the counter. Castiel stopped, again, across from Dean.

“Then again,” Dean said, smiling, moving carefully. “The Coyote always just screwed things up, and I think I’m no different.”

“What?”

Dean tossed his old Blackberry into the sink and turned on the food grinder that quickly shredded the phone to pieces.

Castiel watched as Dean turned off the grinder that had destroyed his last chance of escape. He frowned.

“One more day, man. Bear with me.”

Groaning, Castiel left the kitchen, heading to their shared bedroom.

***

During lunch, Bobby, John, Sam and Dean all sat on the round table discussing nothing more interesting than sports and the weather. Mary was making everyone grilled cheese sandwiches, and even though Dean had offered to help, Mary had insisted on Dean sitting with the family to bond or something.

Out came Castiel, which Dean thought would never happen. He was wearing Dean’s Zeppelin t-shirt and Dean’s ripped jeans, and even Dean’s slippers. Something about that felt extremely right, and it built a small bundle of warmth in his chest. Dean was definitely delusional.

“Hey, nice look,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I like it,” Dean said. If they didn’t start acting like a couple, this whole charade would fall apart before Christmas.

Castiel stared at Dean apathetically, until he sighed and walked to the kitchen counter.

“Why don’t you sit with us, Castiel?” Dean asked. Castiel ignored him.

Mary searched for something in the cupboards, and Castiel seemed intent on her frustrated actions.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Winchester?” Castiel asked.

“I think I forgot to bring the extra virgin oil,” Mary said, sadly. “It’s what I was going to cook dinner with tonight.”

“Well, I could go get it for you, if you like,” Castiel offered with a smile.

Dean knew this was the chance he’d waited for. Castiel was going to run away, and this time he’d actually leave for good. How psychotic was it that Dean didn’t want him to go?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, mom,” Dean said, getting up and out of his chair. “I can drive to the store. Cas is a guest.”

“Okay,” Mary said. “Yeah, that sounds fair.”

Castiel took his chance, again. “I’ll go with you, baby.”

“What?” Dean asked, not sure whether what struck him was the sudden pet name or the fact that Castiel was surely going to escape.

“That’s an excellent idea, Castiel,” Mary said. “It’s dangerous out there, Dean. And it’s a long drive. You need someone to watch your back.”

Castiel turned to Dean, with a smile that reached his eyes. “See? You need me.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Get your coat.”

***

“You know, I still have the handcuffs. They’re in the glove compartment.”

“If you wanted to use them, you’d already have taken them out,” Castiel said, relaxing on the seat. Dean was rigid as he drove, fearing that the closer they got to the store, the closer he’d come to losing Castiel. Losing Castiel meant losing his dignity in front of his family.

Dean turned up the music to block out the silence in the car. This time, Castiel was tapping his hands on his—Dean’s—jeans along to the music.

“Those clothes really do look good on you,” Dean said. And maybe that compliment wasn’t due to keep up the false relationship in front of his parents.

Castiel looked at Dean and laughed. “Dean, are you flirting with me?”

“No.” Dean clenched his hands on the steering wheel. “You’re not my type, anyway.”

“I’m not?”

Dean shook his head. “You should have seen my last boyfriend. He was tall, much taller than you. He didn’t have that five o’clock shadow or the lazy hair, but he had a full beard, and he had a heck of a lot of muscles.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Castiel said, sounding amused.

“What doesn’t?”

“You have no proof against me. You don’t know what’s underneath my—your—shirt. I might have more muscles than you.”

Dean grinned, relaxing. “Is that a challenge?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’d like to point out that I work out. And I run every morning.”

“Impressive,” Dean allowed. Dean wasn’t sure, but that sounded like a promise coming from Castiel. Dean smiled, picturing a muscle-show-off.

“You know, if you hadn’t bolted into my office, I probably would have agreed to reschedule your interview.”

Dean blinked, turning to Castiel. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Castiel said, sounding earnest. “I looked at your resume, and before the interviews I thought you’d be the one I’d hire. I just didn’t like the way you acted, or the way you treated my receptionist.”

“The way _I_ treated _her_? She was onto me.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was, Dean.”

“I’m serious,” Dean said. “She said I couldn’t get another chance. And she looked at me like I was a hobo.”

Castiel snorted. “It’s too late now. I already hired someone.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Dean said. He’d be angry if he actually cared about the job.

“I was right when I thought you were insane,” Castiel added.

“Good to know.”

“Dean, relax, I’m not going to run away. I doubt anyone at the gas station would believe me, anyway.”

Dean pulled in to the gas station where he’d gotten the handcuffs, and Castiel went into the store with him.

While searching for the extra virgin olive oil, Castiel picked up a magazine to flip through by the counter.

“Hey, you’re the kinky couple,” Ruby said. “How’d you like the handcuffs?”

Dean turned to Castiel to catch his response. “Oh, we’ve been stuck in the bedroom all day. We barely came out for air. Thanks for providing us with such comfortable cuffs.”

Ruby laughed. “I used to like all of that bondage stuff back in the day. Brings back good memories.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. He chewed off a laugh as he spotted the olive oil and picked it up.

“It is very fun, indeed,” Castiel said, putting the magazine back in its place. Dean set the olive oil on the counter while Ruby ringed him up.

“You make a really good couple,” Ruby said as Dean paid.

“I don’t know about that,” Dean said, taking the olive oil without a bag.

Castiel grinned, and Dean recognized that as some of the best acting he’d seen in his life. “He’s kidding. We’re a match made in heaven.” Castiel set his elbows on the counter and leaned closer to Ruby. “In fact, if you’d like to join us one of these days—”

Dean grabbed Castiel’s arm and pulled him away before Ruby started getting excited. “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s go.”

Castiel laughed all the way to the Impala. “Did you see the smile in her face?”

“Who would have thought you were into ménages a trois?”

“I am into embarrassing you, Dean Winchester.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You son of a bitch.”

Castiel laughed, again. The ride back to the cabin was somehow lighter and less tense.

***

Back at the cabin, Dean’s entire family was gathered in the living room. Mary was working on pulling out the old Christmas decorations from large brown boxes.

Dean headed straight for the empty seat next to his uncle, who always seemed to be drinking.

“Hey, how’d it go?” Mary asked Castiel.

“It went great,” Castiel said. “Right, baby?” Castiel enjoyed teasing Dean with the stupid pet names. Dean didn’t seem to be aware of how flustered the pet names made him look.

Dean cleared his throat and shifted on the couch. “Yeah. It went great. Roads weren’t so bad today.”

“All I know is that it’s freezing and there’s not nearly enough booze,” Bobby blurted out.

“Cheer up, Uncle Bobby,” Dean said. “It’s Christmas tomorrow.”

“That’s great news. For a seven year old,” Bobby grunted, taking a sip from his flask.

Sam chuckled, and then he suddenly got up, heading down the hallway.

When Dean seemed engaged in a conversation with John about car parts, Castiel decided to follow Sam.

In his bedroom, Sam was talking to someone. Castiel knew someone had kept their cell phone. And he’d been right in suspecting Sam. After the phone call ended, Castiel knocked on Sam’s door. The younger brother opened it, not bothering to hide the phone in his hand.

“What’s up, Castiel?”

“May I use your cell phone? I have to make a call.”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam handed Castiel his cell phone, just like that. Castiel took the phone into the bathroom to make his phone call.

God, Daphne was probably worried sick about Castiel. She hadn’t heard from him in over twenty-four hours, and at this point of their relationship, that was bad news. Castiel worried that she’d think he suddenly forgot about her, or even worse, that he ditched her at the Roadhouse. He knew she’d be pissed.

Castiel pressed the number he’d memorized onto the iPhone when someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hurry up in there,” Bobby called. “A man that drinks as much as me shouldn’t have to wait this long to empty his bladder.”

 “I’ll be out in a minute,” Castiel called back, waiting for Daphne to pick up.

Daphne’s cell phone went straight to voicemail, and Castiel knew that was a bad sign. Her phone was never turned off. When his calls went to voicemail it was because she didn’t want to talk to him.

“Hello? Anybody in there?” Bobby said, knocking again.

“One second,” Castiel called out.

Castiel dialed Daphne’s landline, trying to reach her at home, hoping she was home and not last-minute shopping.

On the third ring, Daphne picked up. “Yes?” her voice was nonchalant as always.

“Daphne!” Castiel exclaimed. “Daphne, I have something to tell you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. It’s very important,” Castiel said, trying to ignore the constant knocking on the door.

Daphne groaned. “I can’t keep up with you, Castiel. You said you had something important to tell me yesterday, and yet you stood me up.”

“I know, but listen, I didn’t stood you up,” Castiel tried to explain, despite the rattling at the door.

“Who do you think you are, Castiel?” Daphne said. “I’m too pretty to be stood up. Why did you even ask me to meet you at a stupid bar? Are you an alcoholic? Is that your big reveal?”

Castiel pressed his fingers to the top of his nose. “No, would you just listen to me? I was kidnapped yesterday by a bartender. He held me at gunpoint and brought me to a cabin in the middle of nowhere.”

“Castiel Novak, don’t you try fooling me,” Daphne accused in that shrill voice Castiel never was too fond of. “If this is your way of getting out of spending Christmas with me, then we might as well call this whole thing off.”

“Daphne, listen to me, I’m in a cabin a few hours from town. I’m fine, I promise you. I just—”

“Oh, really? That’s just great. I’m so glad you’re fine because I was just _so_ worried that the man who stood me up was doing okay!”

Castiel shut his eyes. “Do you want to know why I asked you to meet me at the Roadhouse yesterday? That’s where we met, Daphne. Don’t you remember? I was going to propose.”

“Propose,” Daphne repeated, sounding almost dazed.

“Yes, I want to marry you,” Castiel said, opening his eyes, suddenly aware that the knocking on the door had stopped.

“Okay,” Daphne said. “I’ll go to the police. I’ll find you, Castiel.”

“Thank you.”

Castiel ended the call without a goodbye and opened the bathroom door. Dean stood at the other side of the door, standing against the wall.

“Were you on the phone with someone?” Dean asked.

“Maybe,” Castiel allowed, stepping out of the bathroom.

Dean stared at him, betrayal marked on his freckled face. “Who did you call?”

“I called someone to come get me,” Castiel admitted. “I’m getting out of here.”

Dean frowned.

“But I’m going to help you, Dean.”

“What do you mean?”

Castiel stepped closer. “I am going to be the best boyfriend anyone could ever dream of while I’m here, and your parents are going to _love_ me.”

“Why the sudden change of heart, Novak?”

Shrugging, Castiel took a step back. “Remember when I told you I was into embarrassing you, Dean? Well, when your parents find out the truth, imagine the humiliation you’ll be filled with.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You don’t scare me, Castiel.”

“I’m not doing it to scare you. I’m doing it to get back at you.”

***

The amiability that Dean had imagined between him and Castiel had been part of his insanity. Castiel hated him. Really hated him.

But Dean didn’t have the time to dwell on that fact at the moment. He had to help Mary finish decorating the Christmas tree.

Castiel was already in the living room when Dean and Mary walked in with more boxed that had been stored for decades. John walked to Castiel’s side and placed his hand to his shoulder for a brief moment.

“Tell me, Castiel, what do you do for a living?” John asked. The question seemed abrupt, but Castiel smiled brightly before responding.

“I work at Leviathan Enterprises,” Castiel said proudly. “I’m the vice president.”

Dean stilled in the middle of pulling out ornaments. Damn. VP and everything. No wonder Castiel had a stick up his ass.

“No kidding!” John said. “Dean had an interview there this morning. Why didn’t you tell me you were dating the vice president, Dean? And still, he didn’t get the job?”

“Well, we would have given him the job, gladly, but Dean didn’t want the job after all.”

John turned to Dean, confused. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, figuring telling part of the truth was better than nothing. “I didn’t like that place. Plus, it’d be weird working under my, uh, boyfriend.” God, that word just felt so wrong when used with Castiel.

“It wouldn’t hurt to have a job at such an esteemed business,” John said. “What are you going to do with your life, Dean? You took music lessons, for chrissakes. What are those going to help you with out in the real world?”

“Maybe for starting a high school band,” Castiel said, and John laughed.

Dean focused on the ornament in his hands.

“Nice ornaments,” Castiel said.

“Dean made them,” Mary said, sounding actually proud. “He used to love arts and crafts as a kid. That and boys. He’d always go out chasing after boys in the neighborhood. He must have been three when he had ran up to this little kid on the playground and just _kissed_ him. Right on the lips. The other boy nearly fell down after the kiss.”

Castiel laughed. “Sounds like Dean was quite the Casanova.”

“Castiel, would you like to put the angel on top of the tree?” Mary asked.

“Of course.” Castiel took the angel and stood on a small stool to reach the top of the tree. “Is that good?”

“That’s perfect,” Mary said, seemingly delighted. “Thank you, dear.”

“Not a problem,” Castiel said. “The tree looks beautiful.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew what Cas was doing. Sucking up to his family. All part of his evil scheme.

“I’m so glad you could be here with us, Castiel,” Mary said, grinning at him.

John patted Castiel’s back. “Yeah, I don’t know why Dean kept you away from us for so long.”

“He can be a selfish bastard sometimes,” Castiel said playfully. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

Dean forced a smile. “That’s right. I wanted to keep you all to myself.”

“Better learn to start sharing,” Castiel said through gritted teeth. “You can’t keep me here all the time.”

“I can try.”

Castiel laughed. “His sense of humor is his best asset, truly.”

John shook his head. “At least someone understands Dean’s dry sense of humor. Tell you, the boy came to me one day with this nonsense about becoming a musician. Like his old acoustic guitar was worth more than a good college degree. I _knew_ he was joking.”

Leaving the ornaments and decorations behind, Dean went to hide in his bedroom as the laughter in the living room subsided.

***

“Do you play soccer?” Sam asked Castiel.

Despite the randomness of the question, Castiel didn’t have the desire to be a jerk to Dean’s family anymore. He was going to keep his promise. Being the best boyfriend meant getting along with Dean’s brother.

“I used to play in high school,” Castiel said.

“There’s a soccer ball in the storage room, and I was wondering if you wanted to go out and play with me.”

Castiel turned to the kitchen, where Dean was still sulking while eating a slice of pie. Part of him did feel guilty about earlier. Dean was obviously feeling miserable, and having Castiel here making matters worse felt entirely too childish and wasteful. Keeping his time occupied with Sam seemed like a sensible idea.

“Let’s do it.” Castiel stood up from the couch and followed Sam to the storage room for the soccer ball, and then outside to the snowy afternoon.

Sam kicked the ball a few times to warm up, and then he kicked it to Castiel.

The two had a set of marks that would count as goals for either of them. Hitting the tree behind Sam would give Castiel one point. And the trash can behind Castiel would give Sam one point. Castiel was better at blocking goals than at making them.

Sam kicked the ball, and groaned again when Castiel caught the ball in his hands. “How do you _do_ that? I could have sworn I had you fooled.”

“Can’t fool me, moose,” Castiel said.

Sam threw his head back in laughter. “I like that. It’s definitely new.”

“Can I ask you something, Sam?” Castiel kicked the ball to Sam, and Sam blocked it with his foot. At this rate, neither of them would ever score one point.

“Shoot.”

“I heard that Dean was serious about playing guitar. Do you know anything about that?”

Sam let out a visible breath, pulling his hair behind his ears. “Dean loves music, but I’m sure you already know that. He always keeps his guitar in his trunk, in case he ever finds a chance to play. Truth is, Dad isn’t so thrilled about having a musician in the family. He always insisted I go to law school, but hell, I never even wanted to be a lawyer. Dean was supposed to do something with his life, to Dad’s standards, but he was never allowed to pursue his dream career. It’s a shame. He actually has talent.”

Catching the ball to keep Sam from scoring, Castiel looked behind him at the window that faced the kitchen. He didn’t want to accept the fact that he was starting to understand Dean’s motivations. Fuck. Castiel could actually reason why Dean did what he did.

Maybe the crazy was contagious.

***

When Castiel came out of Dean’s bedroom with Dean’s angel sweater on, all eyes were on him. Dean gaped at him, and his eyes traveled down to where the sweater ended below Castiel’s torso. Flustered, Dean looked away.

For some reason, seeing Dean flustered amused Castiel more than he wanted to accept. And having Dean checking him out didn’t bother him as much as the initial kiss on his hand had.

It wasn’t that Castiel wasn’t attracted to Dean, that wasn’t even debatable. This wasn’t a situation where that should even be thoroughly processed by Castiel’s brain. (Even though it had, just for a minute). This was about his prior engagement. Castiel had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who he was going to propose to the day before.

Castiel knew that, despite Daphne’s constant aggressive attitude, she didn’t deserve a cheating boyfriend. Castiel had had many awful experiences with his exes—some of them men, although none of them came close to Dean. There. That was his clue that he was losing it. The fact that Castiel had memorized the places in Dean’s face that were covered in freckles and the way his green eyes observed him every time Castiel said something unexpected.

It was absolutely ridiculous and inexcusable.

Castiel was practically engaged.

And that stupid kiss on Castiel’s stupid hand had shot a spark right up his arm that left him stupidly flabbergasted. It wasn’t right. None of it was. If anything, this whole experience might just play out as another case of Stockholm syndrome. But Castiel wouldn’t let it go that far.

Dean’s entire family was gathered around the Christmas tree, with the fireplace crackling softly. On the smaller couch, Dean sat next to Mary. Castiel went to sit at the empty spot on the larger couch between John and Bobby. Sam was on the floor on a beanbag, and Castiel wondered how his extremely long legs could fold in such ways.

“Are we ready?” John asked.

“I’m ready for another bottle of whiskey,” Bobby mumbled. Castiel noticed the absence of his flak in his hands.

Mary leaned forward, addressing Castiel. “Dear, would you like a piece of pie?”

“Yes, please,” Castiel said. Before being stuck here, Castiel had never even tried apple pie. He didn’t like desert at all. Sweet things caused cavities, and Castiel had enough to deal with without those. But after seeing Dean devour his first piece of pie, well, the craving was born.

“Dean, would you get Castiel a piece of pie?” Mary asked Dean.

Dean scowled at Castiel, inducing a smile from him. “I’m sure Castiel knows where the kitchen is. I’m not his maid.”

Mary frowned. “When you love someone you do nice things for them, Dean. Why do you think I’ve worked so hard these past few days to make everything perfect for my family?”

Guilt appeared in Dean’s eyes, and then he shot Castiel one last look before heading to the kitchen.

“Thank you, baby!” Castiel called out, and Dean paused, clenching his fists on his sides, before he continued walking.

“Should we wait for Dean, or do we get started?” John asked. Castiel still didn’t know what they were talking about.

“Why don’t we ask our guest to do the honors?” Mary proposed.

Dean returned with the pie and set it on the coffee table in front of Castiel, making a loud thump by his carelessness. “Eat your damn pie,” Dean muttered in Castiel’s ear, low and close enough that only Castiel could hear.

“Do you have the book, Dean?” Mary asked as Dean sat back down next to her.

Pulling out a book from the side of the couch, Dean nodded. “Are we ready to read _A Christmas Carol_?”

“Castiel was going to read it,” John said, suddenly.

“Why would you ask Cas to read this book?” Dean said, perplexed. “This is _my_ copy.”

“There’s that selfishness, again, Dean,” Castiel pointed out.

Dean glared at Castiel before he tossed him the book, hitting him hard on his face. “Have your fucking book if it makes you fucking happy, dammit!” With that, Dean left the room.

Castiel clutched the fractured copy of _A Christmas Carol_ in his hands as he frowned at it. Something Castiel had done and/or said earlier had really done the trick on Dean. Granted, his initial intentions were to make Dean’s life a living hell while he had him here, but Castiel wasn’t as heartless as he appeared. And he did _not_ like having Dean pissed at him. Not anymore, anyway.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Castiel offered, getting up and walking to the hallway. Dean was in their bedroom, sitting in bed with his lips pursed in a clear pout.

Castiel had gotten used to Dean’s childlike features in their short time together. When Dean smiled sometimes he looked like a five-year-old with not a single care in the world. When Dean laughed he threw his head back and allowed the joy to fill up his entire body. And seeing Dean with that long frown in his face and his burrowed eyebrows was more endearing than anything.

“What the hell do you want?” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“I just want to talk.”

“Then talk.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, sitting beside Dean on the bed. “What’s up?”

“Really? That’s all you came up with?”

Castiel gave Dean a small shove with his shoulder. “Tell me what I did.”

“You’re being obnoxious.”

“I’m playing the role you wanted me to play. Why are you complaining now?”

Dean looked to Castiel, his eyes still visibly green, despite the poor lighting in the room. “Because you’re another Sam. You’re another perfect son to them. I’m already a fucking disappointment in the family, and then you start being all perfect and they start drooling over you.”

“You know that’s not true, Dean. I’m sure it was your sweater that had them fooled.”

Dean frowned. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I can make myself less irresistible,” Castiel offered, smirking.

Dean shoved him back with his shoulder. “Just go give them what they want. Give them your best performance of _A Christmas Carol_.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Since when do you care what I want?” Dean asked, curiously.

Castiel shrugged, feeling confused. “I guess I must be getting into the Christmas spirit.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Has your heart grown twice its size, Mr. Grinch?”

Castiel laughed, and Dean smiled. “Perhaps it did.”

With the smile still present, Dean stood up and opened the bedroom door. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, with those simple words, Castiel followed Dean.

***

Chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk rested on the coffee table in the living room. Dean thought his entire family had already gone to bed when he found Mary walking in from the kitchen with a notebook in her hands.

“Oh, you’re still up,” Mary said. “Good.”

“Yeah, Cas is changing in the bathroom.”

“Did I hear my name?” Castiel said, walking to the living room in Dean’s blue pajamas. They undoubtedly looked better on him.

“Castiel, I’m glad you’re up, too.” Mary opened her notebook and ripped out two pages, handing them to each of them. She handed them two pens as well. “Make your lists, boys.”

Dean glanced back at the coffee table. “Were the cookies really necessary, mom?”

“Of course,” Mary said, grinning. “A young soul lives longer, darling. Write your lists for Santa. Goodnight, boys.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Winchester,” Castiel said, walking up to Dean. “So, where should we do this?”

With a sigh of exasperation, Dean made some room on the coffee table for both of them to have enough writing space. They sat on pillows on the floor in front of the table.

Castiel took a cookie from the plate in the center of the table. “Mmm.” Castiel brought the cookie up to his mouth and took a bite, careful not to let the crumbs fall down on him. He moved his lips as he chewed, and for the fifteenth time, Dean noted how chapped Castiel’s lips appeared. He tried, and failed, to block out any other thoughts involving Castiel’s lips.

“What?” Castiel asked. Dean glanced a few inches higher from Castiel’s lips to his bright blue eyes. He’d caught Dean staring at him.

“You’re not supposed to eat those cookies,” Dean muttered.

“If you don’t tell on me, I won’t tell on you.” Castiel picked up another cookie and handed it to Dean. “Here, have some milk.” Castiel pushed the full glass of milk closer to Dean.

Dean picked up the glass and took a sip. Putting the glass back down, Dean licked his lips to rid of the extra milk. Castiel glanced down at the action, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Dean swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry despite the milk he just drank.

Castiel pressed his eyes shut for a moment, as though trying to get rid of a thought. He sat up straight and clicked the top of his pen. “What are you going to wish for, Dean?” he asked, scribbling on his piece of paper.

Blinking, Dean became aware that his mouth was hung open. He closed it before Castiel could ask any questions about Dean’s dumbstruck state. “I haven’t even started.”

Castiel smiled as he kept writing, covering his sheet of paper. “No peeking.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Do you want some wine?”

“Sure,” Castiel said, easily. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Might as well. I’m sure I’m already on the naughty list, anyway.”

Castiel chuckled. “That you are, Dean.”

Dean worked on the task of pulling out a bottle of red wine from the storage room and two cups. He filled up their cups and Castiel took a sip, closing his eyes at the taste.

“This is very good.”

Dean smiled, though his heart wasn’t in it.

Castiel seemed to notice Dean’s mood swing because he set his wine down and turned to Dean. “What are you going to wish for?”

“I dunno. Considering I stopped believing in Santa before I turned five, I don’t feel so eager to write this stupid list anymore.”

“Perhaps I should get you drunk so you can stop sulking.”

Dean laughed quietly, aware that his family was now asleep. “I’m not sulking, Cas.”

“Then make a list.”

“What are you even writing?”

Castiel smirked, lifting up his sheet of paper for Dean to read it. In big bold letters, the only item on Castiel’s list was: _I don’t want to ever see a pair of furry pink handcuffs again in my entire life._

Despite his attempt to keep quiet for the sake of his family, Dean busted into laughter. Castiel laughed with him, and whatever awkwardness was left between them was lifted off like a sheet.

“Do you think you can help Santa grant me this wish, Dean?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded. “I think I can make that happen.”

After another good laugh, Dean finally got to work on writing his list. Castiel made all sorts of doodles on his piece of paper while he drank the rest of his wine. Dean poured them both more wine.

“Is there seriously nothing you want?” Dean wondered.

Apparently taken away from his train of thought, Castiel turned to Dean. “Hmm?—oh, no, I don’t think there’s anything left for me to want. To be quite frank, I have a perfect job, a beautiful girlfriend, and soon I’ll have a family of my own.”

Struck by this revelation, Dean bit his lower lip. Fuck, he’d really picked the wrong guy to kidnap. It finally occurred to Dean that Castiel had dreams of his own. He had plans that Dean had violently interrupted. Castiel had a girlfriend, and Dean had dragged him away from her. No fucking wonder Castiel had insisted that Dean didn’t kiss him.

Dean had been wrong when he thought he wasn’t a dick. By now, Dean was one of the worst people on earth.

“What’s on your list?” Castiel asked, and without a warning, he snatched the list from Dean’s grip. Dean had no will to fight for it. “A new oil change for my baby?”

Dean shrugged. “She needs it.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow and widened his grin. “Guitar picks,” Castiel continued. “Braids on Sam’s hair. Five inches more…?” Castiel glanced at Dean, blinking.

“Height wise,” Dean explained, clearing his throat.

“A chance to do what I love,” Castiel concluded. He looked to Dean, and Dean thought there was pity in his eyes, but then he realized it was sympathy.

Dean sighed. “I was going to scratch that out.”

Castiel frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s stupid.”

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “It’s really not.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s stupid that I still have dreams of ever doing something with music, with my guitar. I know how hard it is to get a record deal. I can’t afford to be a struggling musician. I’m thirty years old, you know? That dream should be dead and buried six feet underground by now.”

“Dean,” Castiel said. His name was breathed out of Castiel’s lips, sounding like a prayer.

The knowledge of Castiel’s girlfriend—and future wife—forced Dean to move away. Castiel seemed unaware of their approximation, but Dean wasn’t. Castiel looked at the empty plate of cookies and his glass of wine.

“Want to hear something?” Dean muttered. Castiel turned to him, again. The blue eyed man tilted his head, signaling Dean to continue. “When I was twelve, my parents gave me my first guitar. By then, I’d already been taking guitar lessons, but I’d borrow a guitar from my next door neighbor. And when they pulled out that beautiful acoustic guitar, I swear I was the happiest boy on that Christmas morning.

“Later on in the day, my parents pulled me out back, to the gazebo. They put up a bunch of color lights and asked me to play for them and Sammy. I played a few rock songs I’d learned first, and then I played a song I wrote. And they loved it.”

A cold touch came to Dean’s cheek and when he looked up, Castiel was gazing into his eyes, and the touch was coming from his hand.

“They love you, too, Dean,” Castiel said, and it sounded like a promise. Dean froze when he felt Castiel’s smooth thumb caressing the cheek he was holding.

Dean turned away, and Castiel dropped his hand. “I’m gonna clean up this mess.”

“I’ll be in bed,” Castiel whispered, standing up.

“Okay.” Dean worked on picking up the glasses and the plate when he noticed Castiel was still standing there, watching Dean carefully.

“Don’t take so long,” Castiel said, already glancing into Dean’s eyes when he turned.

There was a beat of silence between them, so surreal that Dean didn’t feel like any of it was actually happening. Dean resisted the urge to pinch himself.

Nervously, Castiel smiled before turning around and heading to their bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

**Christmas Day…**

It was way too early when Dean woke up. Not immediately after he opened his eyes, did he realize what day it was, or the reason why he was not exactly in his room. Shifting on the bed, attempting to stretch out his limbs, Dean gathered another piece of information.

A light weight rested on Dean’s legs. When his vision cleared up, Dean turned to his right, finding Castiel already awake, lying on his side, staring at him with a bright blue gaze. And the weight on his legs was from one of Castiel’s legs. The other man seemed to know that his leg was on top of Dean’s body, and he looked a little embarrassed when Dean woke up and caught him still partially on him.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said gruffly, his voice thick from sleep.

Dean blinked. The pillow was gone. Dean knew that. The pillow had been gone the night before, when Castiel rushed into their bedroom and waited for him. Dean didn’t know what the fuck was up with the guy. One night he despised Dean, and the next he’d waited in bed, without the diving pillow, and with that same delicious nervous smile.

Hell, Dean didn’t know how he managed to sleep knowing Castiel was so close. The whole night, he felt him moving closer and closer, even when Dean was already asleep. And the cold room had turned warm, all at once.

But now? Now Castiel was closer than ever. And he didn’t look at all eager to move away.

“How long have you been awake?” Dean asked, clearing his throat. He brought his hands down to his sides, careful not to touch Castiel’s unmoving leg. The man was in a relationship for crying out loud.

“Not long.”

Dean nodded. When Castiel’s gaze became unbearably intense, Dean stared up at the ceiling, aware that the same eyes continued watching him. “You hungry? I think I smell pancakes.”

“Not yet,” Castiel said. “I’m going to shower before breakfast.”

“Good idea,” Dean said, trying his best _not_ to picture Castiel in the shower. Fuck. What the fuck was wrong with him? And why had Castiel not moved his leg away from Dean’s lower regions? Was this part of his big mastermind plan to get back at Dean?

Castiel was quiet, and Dean lied still for a long moment. The only sound was of their stable breathing, and the mumbled voices in the living room.

“Dean?” Castiel muttered. It was spoken in the same way as the previous night. With the same…warmth.

Dean turned to Castiel, and the other man was smiling. The word radiant would be the only thing appropriate to describe his smile.

“If we’d met in different circumstances…” Castiel whispered, trailing off.

“What?” Dean asked. “What then?”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak again, but then he closed it and shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I’m going to take a shower now.”

Without a fair warning, the weight and the comfort of Castiel’s leg was gone. And Dean was left wondering what the fuck _that_ was about.

***

Dean had been right about the pancakes. He waited for Castiel to get out of the shower so they could eat breakfast together, since the rest of his family didn’t wait for either of them to devour half of Mary’s secret-recipe pancakes.

Bobby was taking current swigs of his flask, and Mary shot him disapproving glances that Bobby ignored.

“Isn’t it a little too early for that, Bobby?” Mary said, scrubbing the dishes.

Groaning, Bobby took another long drink. “If I gotta put up with all of you in this prison cell I’m gonna need a refill soon.”

Sam was helping Mary do the drying while she continued washing the dishes, and he kept whistling Christmas songs. John was sitting at the counter trying to keep up a conversation with Bobby, his brother, long enough before the other man buried his head behind his silver flask.

Mary finally let out a long sigh. “Alright, this room is way too crowded. We have a busy day ahead of us today. Sam, you can help me start on dinner. John, get more wood for the fire. Bobby, go have fun with the eggnog in another room.” Mary’s eyes narrowed on Dean and Castiel, who were still finishing up their pancakes. “You two, go have some fun.”

As everyone left to do as Mary said, Dean and Castiel exchanged a glance with each other, quickly looking back down to their plates.

***

They decided to go outside and play in the snow. That is, after a lot of head tilts and eye squints and glancing away after long eye contact, Dean and Castiel agreed to grab some jackets and enjoy the nice white Christmas.

“Do you know your way around here, Dean?”

He was leading them through a long white trail surrounded by long snow-filled pine trees. Dean had spent every Christmas at this place. The question itself should have offended him. Except it didn’t. Because he was still trying to figure out what was happening between the two of them. Dean still couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Although I don’t blame you if you can’t trust me.”

Castiel caught up to him, and he chuckled. “What are you gonna do? Kidnap me?”

“Very funny.”

Castiel punched Dean’s arm, playfully. “Where are you taking me this time? To your secret shed in the forest? Is this where you’re going to tickle me to death?”

Dean rolled his eyes and kept walking, faster, so Castiel would pick up his pace. “Keep talking, Novak.”

“Am I getting on your nerves now, Dean? Do you want me to shut up? Because if that’s what you want, then you know I’m just going to keep talking.”

Dean halted, turned around, and faced Castiel. In one quick motion, Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel’s waist, pulling him closer, close enough that their chests pressed against each other, and that they were puffing out cold visible breath into each other. Close enough for Dean to have nothing else but to think of those pink chapped lips less than an inch away from his.

Dean wasn’t crazy. Castiel was shivering, but it wasn’t from the cold. His gaze traveled to Dean’s lips, and his eyes took on a darker color. Dean had managed to leave him speechless.

It would have been so easy to forget that they weren’t in this situation. Dean could pretend so many things as they stayed this close to each other, the tension building up as neither of them made a single move. That Dean was just a guy who had earned the privilege of being in Castiel’s presence without having to kidnap him first. That Castiel was single, and most importantly, attracted to Dean.

Most important, Dean wanted to pretend Castiel wasn’t faking all of this. But deep down, he knew it was a lie, part of the charade Dean had started. Castiel was just playing along.

With a deep inhale through his nose, Dean loosened his grip on Castiel, straining to shape his most charming grin.

“I know how I can shut you up.” Dean bent down, picked up a handful of snow, and pressed it tight in his hands, and rolled it up into a perfect snowball. He ran a few feet and tossed it over to Castiel before he ran to hide behind a tree.

It took a moment for Castiel to react to what had happened. Even as the snow dripped from his chest, the one that had been up close with Dean’s just seconds before, Castiel just stood there unblinking.

“Cas?” Dean asked, starting to worry.

Shaking his head, Castiel seemed to get out of his momentarily paralysis. He worked on making a snowball and before he threw it at Dean, Castiel bit at his lower lip. “You should run because that tree isn’t going to help you,” Castiel warned, sounding amused.

“I think—” Dean started, but was cut off short when the snowball hit him right in the face. And it was fucking cold. “Son of a bitch,” Dean mouthed.

“Run,” Castiel warned, again, smirking.

Dean set off on a sprint down the trail filled with snow, careful not to slip. He laughed as he made another snowball and threw it at Castiel, and he laughed even harder when Castiel evaded the hit. It went on like this for half an hour. The entire time filled with a heck of a lot of laughter and running and chasing each other with snowballs.

It all came to an end as Castiel tackled Dean to the ground, and Dean shouted, “Truce!”

Castiel shook his head, climbing off of Dean. “There is no truce. I win and you know it.”

“Do you have this compulsive need to get what you want?” Dean wondered.

Castiel shrugged. “I work hard for what I want. Nothing that is worth having is ever given out freely.” Castiel offered Dean his hand and Dean took it, pulling himself off the ground.

“That explains your insane ability to make so many snowballs per minute. And your precision is admirable.”

“Thanks,” Castiel said, looking away with a smile.

Dean sighed, burying his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “What do you like to do for fun, Cas?”

Tilting his head, Castiel seemed to be pondering his answer. “I always liked flying. I took some classes back in the day, but I never pursued a career as a pilot. There was no time for that.”

“What—your parents didn’t give you enough millions to buy you a private jet?”

Castiel frowned, and a crease formed on his forehead. “Dean, I don’t know what gave you the idea that I was born into wealth. My parents died when I was ten, and I grew up with my grandfather out in the country.”

Dean swallowed. He did not expect to hear this from Cas. “That must have been hard for you.”

“We didn’t have much,” Castiel continued. “But I worked hard to get a scholarship that would pay for my education. I worked part time while in college to pay for all my other expenses. And I’m not telling you any of this so you can take pity on me. I just don’t want you to have me in this awful concept. I worked my way to the top, to the job that I now have.”

“Was it worth it?”

Castiel stared at Dean, right into his eyes, thinking about the answer. “So far, I think so.”

Dean grinned. “Good. That’s good. You should be happy.”

After a beat of silence, Castiel gave Dean’s shoulder a light shove. “What do _you_ like to do for fun, Dean?”

“Hmm. I write songs,” Dean said, aware that he’d already confessed that the night before. The night Castiel cupped Dean’s cheek in a way Dean still couldn’t coherently grasp.

“Will you ever play something for me?” Castiel wondered.

Dean gaped at him. “You mean, like, a song? You want to hear me play my guitar?”

“Of course. Don’t look so surprised. I might be a grumpy man but I still enjoy music.”

Dean looked at his feet, with the sinking feeling that shouted at him that today was the last day he’d ever see Castiel. He’d promised Castiel he’d take him home after Christmas. There was no chance they’d ever see each other again. Not a chance Castiel would willingly _want_ to see Dean again.

“Someday,” Dean said, looking at Castiel again. “Someday I’ll play for you.”

“Can I hold you off on your word?”

Dean snorted. “Damn straight. Come on, I’m freezing.” He turned and walked them back to the cabin. The walk long and calm, somehow easier. It seemed that their earlier contact had long been forgotten.

Once back inside the cabin, the scent of Mary’s apple pie lingered in the air. He knew she baked them especially for Dean because there was no one else in their family more addicted to those deserts than Dean Winchester. And that was fact.

Dean and Castiel took off their jackets and went upstairs to play a game of Sorry on the entertainment room. Huddled up on the small table on the floor, they started playing. After a few turns, Dean was having trouble getting Castiel to focus on the game. Instead, he took Dean’s hand and wiggled it around until his whole arm looked like spaghetti. He also worked in using Dean’s own hand to hit Dean’s hand, and for some strange reason Castiel found all of this amusing.

 _What do you know? Grumpy has the sense of humor of a child,_ Dean thought.

“Dean, why are you hitting yourself?” Castiel said, snickering.

“Cas, come on,” Dean grunted. “Cas. Cas. Stop. Please. Cas.”

Castiel laughed when Dean grasped his wrists and gently pushed him back to his side of the table, managing to settle him down for a moment. “I thought we were supposed to be having fun.”

“We are,” Dean said, motioning to the game board. “It’s your turn. Pick a card.”

Sighing, Castiel glanced down at the board and pulled a face. “Making you hit yourself was far more entertaining,” Castiel said, finally taking his turn.

Dean stared at Castiel. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Castiel replied. “We’re playing Sorry.”

“I’m really sorry for everything I did,” Dean said, earnestly. Hell, it was a little too late for apologies, but he sure felt the need to give them. “It’s Christmas, and you should be with your family, not with me.”

Castiel folded his arms on the table, pushing the game aside. “I’m having a nice time, Dean. While I’m here, I might as well enjoy it.”

Dean tried to smile, but still a big part of him felt guilty. Castiel frowned.

“Let’s go see if there are any more chocolate chip cookies left in the kitchen,” Castiel offered, standing up.

“Alright, lead the way,” Dean said, Castiel downstairs.

The two walked into the kitchen simultaneously and Sam made a loud squealing—yes, squealing!—noise that made both Dean and Castiel jump.

“You okay, man?” Dean asked, confused.

Mary glanced a few feet above Dean’s head and smiled. “Mistletoe,” she said, pointing to the doorframe above them. Dean looked up, and sure thing, the mistletoe was hanging down right above Dean and Castiel.

When Dean turned to Castiel, the other man was already looking at him. Dean noted the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. Was he nervous?

Dean turned to Sam and Mary, who had now become a cheerful audience. “Cas and I don’t like making out in public. We’re just so passionate that, more often than not, our kisses get too heated and we just don’t want to give a show.”

“Oh, that is bullshit,” Sam said, folding his arms.

“It _is_ mistletoe, Dean,” Mary said, encouragingly.

And fuck, it wasn’t like Dean was against the idea of tasting those broken lips before him, but if he really thought about it, Castiel would probably be completely against the idea of—

It was without a single heads up that a set of lips were crushed against Dean’s mouth in less than a heartbeat. The last thing Dean remembered seeing were dark blue eyes and a ravenous look in them. Castiel kissed him, willingly and eager enough to throw Dean completely off the bat. And Dean’s lower lip fell into place between Castiel’s lips like a jigsaw puzzle. It was a single caress of their lips. Nothing short of harmless, and yet powerful enough to make Dean question his entire existence in regards of the universe.

Before Castiel pulled away, Dean became aware of the hand that held his cheek in the softest way during the kiss. Castiel allowed his hand to linger on Dean’s face after the kiss was over, and Dean could still feel short static numbing sensations on his lips. Dean’s first thought as his mind cleared up from the fog left by Castiel’s breath was that those chapped lips did not feel as rough as he’d originally imagined.

“We should get the cookies,” Castiel muttered, inhaling a long breath.

“Right,” Dean agreed, still dazed. “Cookies.”

Sam went back to work on cooking dinner, and Mary looked smug as Dean walked with Castiel to retrieve the cookies that had put them in this situation.

Dean decided he really liked those cookies.

***

It had become too distracting being with Castiel after their mistletoe incident. Dean decided to leave Castiel upstairs to finish his cookies while Dean helped Mary and Sam finish up dinner.

Sam was making the salad, while Mary and Dean took care of cleanup.

“Dean, sweetheart,” Mary said, looking up from the counter she was wiping with a small towel. “Have you slept with more than one man?”

Stopping his hand on the pan Dean was scrubbing, he stared at his mother, bewildered. Sam looked up, as well, looking terrified and possibly scarred for life.

“No,” Dean lied, wondering where the question fucking came from. Hell. That’s where.

“Of course you have,” Mary said, continuing with the towel. “These are different times. Nowadays, you don’t just marry one person and hope for the best. Now you can test the waters until you find the one that truly makes you happy.”

“I’m still in here,” Sam said from the table. “Should I leave?”

Dean frowned at Sam, daring him to leave him alone to deal with their mother during her sudden midlife crisis. “Mom, are you okay?” Dean asked.

“It’s just that you and Castiel look really happy together,” Mary said, looking from Dean to Sam. “The only man I’ve ever been with is your father. And I love him, I do. But he’s the only man I’ve ever slept with, you know. How do I know he’s the one I was meant to be with?”

With a quiet groan, Sam snuck out of the room. Dean was going to kill him later, he didn’t care that it was Christmas.

“Don’t you think you should be talking to Dad about this?” Dean suggested, hesitantly.

Mary shook her head. “He never listens.”

Dean sighed. “Well, I think it’s almost time for presents. I’ll go get everybody.” Dean dried his hands and frowned at Mary, worried that she could really be as unhappy as she sounded. He understood why so many people were so terrified about committing to marriage.

“Yes, presents,” Mary said, smiling. “We need to open presents.”

“Come on, mom.” Dean took the towel from Mary and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, walking with her to the living room.

“You think we can convince Bobby to join us for presents?” Mary wondered, seemingly back to normal.

Dean squeezed her shoulders. “We might just have to sell our soul for that to happen.”

***

A person could only have so many chocolate chip cookies in one lifetime. Castiel had been craving so many sweet things while he was at the cabin. He’d never learned how to manage his needs and wants, or differentiate between them.

One thing was for sure. Castiel kissed Dean under the mistletoe. And the thing was, he didn’t do it in a moment of weakness, or because he’d been mildly forced by the watching audience. No, Castiel kissed Dean because he _wanted_ to. Because in the time he spent with Dean, Castiel was questioning all of his choices.

He wasn’t sure he ever felt that much of a gravitational pull towards Daphne, something so strong that made him want to kiss her dark pink lips the same way he kissed Dean's. And the thought of spending every single day attached to that woman—the one who didn’t bother to search for him when he went missing—felt more devastating than being forced into a vehicle at gunpoint.

Dean was crazy. He was. But there was a part of him that Castiel was so curious about. Castiel had an irrational _need_ to comfort the other man, to make him feel worthwhile. There was so much heartache in Dean, and Castiel couldn’t stand it. Despite everything Dean had done to aggravate Castiel at first, he couldn’t _not_ help Dean.

Castiel stood up from the couch to take the empty plate of cookies to the kitchen, but before he could pick up the plate, he noticed something. On the couch opposite him, the one Dean had occupied before their game of Sorry started, there was a gray notebook. Castiel glanced at it for quite a moment before he decided to pick it up.

He knew the value of privacy, and that this came pretty close to snooping, but Castiel couldn’t resist opening the notebook.

To his absolute surprise and delight, Castiel realized that this was Dean’s book of lyrics. _His_ original song lyrics.

In an attempt to not pry any further, he shut the notebook. But he bit his lip, looking out the door of the empty room, leading to the empty hallway. Hell, Dean kidnapped Castiel and he got away with it. All Castiel wanted now was to read a snippet of what Dean had created. Was that too much to ask?

Finally, Castiel opened the notebook again, flipping to a random song. _Only a snippet_ , he promised himself.

_Moonlight spreading down,_   
_Smiles can’t be found,_   
_While the down is burning_   
_To the ground_

Castiel read on, amazed and astounded and completely fascinated by Dean’s words. Line after line read like poetry. But they were songs, they were Dean’s songs. Castiel whispered them, and they escaped his lips like pure magic. To hell with invading privacy, Castiel read the next song.

_I wish the light of the sun would reach me_   
_Maybe then I could make a sound_   
_I’m so paralyzed,_   
_Frozen in time,_   
_Seeking a way to find you,_   
_Finally reclaim what’s mine_

And the next. And the next. Each song different, each one with a new meaning, new imagery, a new voice. Dean Winchester was an artist. Why the hell did he want to work as a salesperson at Leviathan Enterprises?

“Cas, get down here, it’s time for presents!” Dean called from downstairs.

Castiel smiled at the open door.

***

There he was, sitting by the fireplace, that fucker. Dean sat next to Sam, glaring at him. Sam scooted away, knowing he deserved what was coming.

“Why did you leave me there alone, Samantha?” Dean hissed under his breath.

Sam tensed, turning to Dean with that sad puppy eye look he played so well. “I wasn’t prepared to go through that psychological trauma. I’m still young, Dean. I have a lot to live for. Good God what is up with our mother?”

“Wasn’t it clear enough?” Dean said. “She isn’t happy with Dad anymore.”

“I can’t blame her,” Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, we have to do something to help her. Help their marriage.”

“Sometimes it’s better to let the inevitable happen,” Sam said with a shrug.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating. Bitch.”

“Could you stop being a jerk since it’s Christmas?”

“Never,” Dean said, giving Sam a shove. “We have to do something.”

Sam sighed. “Alright, fine.”

Mary and John walked into the living room, and Castiel walked in a few moments later. Bobby was the last to gather with everyone.

They all took their places. Castiel sat on the rocking chair next to Dean, and they waved at each other, which was new. Mary took the presents from under the tree and delivered them out to everybody. Even Castiel got one. But it was not from Dean. In all his craziness, he didn’t have time to get his unplanned guest a gift.

“Oh wow, thank you, Mrs. Winchester,” Castiel said politely. “Can I open it?” Mary nodded. Castiel dug into the gift bag and pulled out a blue striped sweater. His eyes lit up and he looked to Dean. “This is so great.”

“I really hoped you’d like it,” Mary said, sheepishly. “I got it for you even before knowing how well it’d go with your eyes.”

Mary was right. That sweater would really bring out Castiel’s big blues. The gift was near perfect.

“Open yours, Dean,” Mary insisted.

Dean opened his box and took out a ceramic angel. Everyone in the room laughed, but Castiel tilted his head, like he was missing the joke.

“They think I’ve been obsessed with angels since I was a kid,” Dean explained quietly.

Castiel looked amused at that, and he gave a slight shrug.

Sam went next; he got a yellow book on Law Firms, which he couldn’t have looked less thrilled about. They went around the room, opening more presents. Dean made sure to get Bobby a new cap. The old man kept wearing the same old dirty one.

At last, they seemed to have run out of gifts to open, and Dean felt relieved. He expected his parents to get him something with a message, like Sam’s yellow book.

Until…

“Son, there’s one more gift under the tree for you,” John said, handing Dean one last large box wrapped in cheery red wrapping. “It’s from me and your mother.”

Dean glanced at Cas before he ripped the wrapping and opened the box. It was a dark black leather briefcase. It even had his initials engraved in a small gilded plaque. Frowning, Dean turned to his parents.

“We were sure you were going to get the job,” Mary mumbled, looking apologetic.

John looked to Castiel, hopefully. “If you ever change your mind—” he started.

“I don’t want to work as a salesman,” Dean said, speaking the truth to his parents for the very first time in a fucking long time.

“Dean, you need to grow up and man up,” John said, coldly. “Are you seriously happy with your current lifestyle? You live in a crappy loft downtown, can’t even afford to fix the heater in your car, and you don’t have health insurance.”

“Dad, come on.”

“I’m sick and tired of witnessing the stupid ways you keep screwing up your life, son,” John continued, leaving Mary gaping in discontentment. “Go out there and find yourself a respectable job. I was okay with you giving up on women, I guess I understand why you wanted that, but this is more serious than who you want to spend your life with. This is about your career, your possible future success.”

“Dad,” Dean choked.

But John wasn’t having it. “What you need to do is _focus_. You need to find one thing you’re good at and focus on it.”

“The only thing I care about is music,” Dean said, sounding defeated. “I make music. That is the only thing that makes me feel like me. You can’t expect me to stop writing songs.”

Scowling now, John continued. “That’s not what I said. I really don’t give a rat’s ass if you waste all of your free time in some loser-that-still-lives-with-his-parents’ basement trying to form some stupid band. Do what you want for a hobby. Hell, I’ll join you with some maracas. That’s fine. But playing guitar and writing songs isn’t going to get you anywhere. That’s not a serious career unless you’re Bob Dylan.”

“I can still do something with my music,” Dean said, raising his voice.

John leaned forward, ready to argue again, but Mary pushed him back into his chair. “Dean, your father and I were just trying to help,” Mary said calmly. “We didn’t mean to offend you.”

Feeling like the ticking bomb Dean had been trying to keep from blowing up had finally ran out of time, he turned to Castiel. He was already looking at Dean, a worried crease in the middle of his brow. Dean allowed Cas to see him broken because there was no way to put up a façade after this. But Dean instantly realized that it was okay to let Castiel see him this way. He wasn’t judging Dean, not the way his parents were. Cas seem to want to help him.

Scooting forward on his rocking chair, Castiel turned to John and Mary with a stern look on his face Dean had last seen at the place of his interview. “Mr. Winchester, I’d like you to know that I have read Dean’s songs, and they’re nothing short of extraordinary. I may not know much about the music industry, but I can recognize talent when I stumble upon it. His songs are raw, they’re genuine and heartfelt. Some are a little depressing, but they’re just so…beautiful.”

John looked as though he’d been slapped in the face, but he wasn’t angry at all. Mary remained looking apologetic as she glanced at Dean.

“I have something else for Dean,” Castiel said, standing up. He looked to John and Mary, giving them a slight nod before he got down on one knee in front of Dean.

_What the fuck is he doing?_

Castiel smiled widely and carelessly as he pulled out a small square box from the pocket of his pants. “We’ve known each other a very short time, but in that time, I’ve grown to love every side of you, even the crazy one.” Castiel paused, swallowed, and sighed deeply. “Dean Winchester, will you please marry me?” And then he opened the box to reveal a diamond that any girl would be lucky to have. Dean? Dean didn’t need something so damn flashy.

A chorus of gasps went around the room, even from Sam who was sitting right beside Dean. The clearing of throat from Castiel reminded Dean that he still hadn’t given an answer.

“Yes?” Dean replied.

With a satisfied smile, Castiel placed the ring on Dean’s finger, which surprisingly fit extremely well. And then he did _it_ again. Castiel kissed him. It lasted no more than two seconds, but every muscle in Dean’s body reacted to the contact. Dean frowned, wanting more, but knowing he had no right to take it, so instead he wrapped his arms around Castiel.

With another kiss to Dean’s cheek, Castiel hugged him back, wrapping his arms under Dean’s shoulder and giving him a light squeeze.

Mary pulled Castiel away from Dean only to bury him in a hug of her own, and then Sam and John congratulated Dean. Bobby placed a hand to Dean’s shoulder, and that was more than Dean ever hoped from his uncle.

“Oh Castiel, you have made this Christmas so special,” Mary said, kissing her supposed future son-in-law.

“It’s been a great holiday,” Castiel replied.

Dean stared at his hand in disbelief. The ring, although light and thin, fit perfectly in Dean’s finger, and although he knew the idea of marriage had always seemed absurd, this pretend engagement didn’t seem as insane as the rest of his holiday.

Chuckling and more joyful than Dean had ever seen her, Mary stood at the center of the room and lifted a hand. “Everyone, I know we’re all very excited about the engagement, and we’re all so happy to have Castiel as part of our family. But we need to give the couple some privacy now before dinner. We’ll meet back in the dining room at seven, alright?”

“That leaves me three hours to sleep,” Bobby said, walking out of the room. Soon after, Sam and John left. Mary took Dean on an embrace and kissed his forehead before leaving as well.

Once the room had cleared, Castiel walked the few feet of distance to Dean. All the pretending seemed to have gone to his head because the man looked as excited as Mary. Cas was smiling so much that his eyes were hardly visible with all the squinting.

“That was unexpected,” Dean said.

Castiel tilted his head. “We really gave them the show they were waiting for.”

Dean glanced at his left hand, again, shaking his head. “Well, thank you. Even if you’re doing all of this to get back at me, you’ve really played your part better than I hoped.”

“It’s not as hard as you’d imagine.”

Dean laughed. “You know you didn’t have to kiss me,” he muttered. _Twice. Not that I was counting._

Swinging his foot close to Dean’s shoe, Castiel chuckled. “I guess I take my part very seriously.”

For a moment, Dean remembered what Castiel had said earlier, to defend him from John. It had been what Dean had been in need of hearing for so many years. But he was now realizing that it had all been part of the game. Castiel had never even heard Dean play, much less read any of his songs.

“You also didn’t have to stick up for me back then,” Dean said. “You lie pretty well, I’ll hand it to you. But if you ever heard my music you probably wouldn’t have the same opinion.”

“What are you talking about?” Castiel asked, confused. “I didn’t make any of that up. I’m sorry if this angers you, Dean, but I found the notebook you left upstairs. I read most of your songs. Everything I said was true.”

Dean made a small O with his lips. “Were you hoping you were going to find my diary? I don’t keep one of those anymore. Not since Sam was able to read because that was too much of a danger.”

Cas laughed. “No, I was actually hoping I’d find some of your music. I’ve been really curious as to what all the fuss is about.”

The feeling of the ring of Dean’s left hand was a new experience, and he swung his foot to his Castiel’s before asking him something else. “Cas, tell me, do you just carry big diamond rings in your pocket waiting for a fake proposal?”

“You can never be too sure when a crazy person’s going to need a fake engagement.”

Dean inhaled, and his breathing felt strained. “I know I already said it before, but I’m really sorry—”

“Dean, stop,” Castiel said, interrupting him. “You and I, we’re done with apologies. Let’s just enjoy today, can you do that? It’s such a nice beautiful day outside. It’s Christmas. We’re having fun, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts. Besides, it hasn’t been that bad.” Cas grinned, placing a warm hand to Dean’s cheek. “Promise?”

Dean nodded. “And I promise I’ll take you anywhere you want after dinner.”

Castiel dropped his hand and his smile faltered. “Okay.”

***

Unable to fight his need for a nice cup of wine to celebrate, Dean went to the storage room for another bottle of wine. When he opened the door, the light was on and Sam was sitting on a chair, drinking a beer.

“Hey, man,” Dean said, walking in and closing the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to get wasted, what does it look like?”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “I thought you were a happy drunk.”

“Guess I’m not,” Sam said. “Congratulations on your engagement with Cas. I’m sure you’re good together.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, sitting on the chair next to Sam. He was surprised to have called his little brother by his old nickname. The one he used when they were younger and actually spoke on the phone more than two to three times a year.

“I’m just trying to figure out how to come out to our parents,” Sam said.

Dean stilled. “You’re gay?”

“What? No. I just don’t want to be a fucking lawyer. It sucks!”

Dean snorted. “I don’t know how you’ve lasted three years at Sanford.”

Sam groaned. “How am I gonna tell dad that I just want to open up a coffee shop? All this time I could have just gone to business school. But he _forced_ me, Dean, he forced me to go to law school. Just like he forced you to give up your dream.”

“I know, Sammy.”

“We can’t let him keep getting away with this, Dean. We’re adults, now. We need to learn to stick up to the man.”

“When are you going to tell him?” Dean wondered.

Sam smiled. “I was thinking tonight, at dinner.”

“What?”

“I’m going to tell him all about my idea,” Sam continued, nodding. “I’m going to buy a lot of art and put it up on the walls. I’m going to have poetry nights, and open mike nights, and people are just going to be able to hang there and drink some of the best coffee they’ll ever taste. I’ve tried creating the best recipe, and I’ve found it.”

“Wow. That sounds really good, Sammy. I’m proud of you.”

Sam took out a cold beer from the cooler by his feet and handed it to Dean. “Drink with me?”

Dean took the beer, opened it and took a sip. “I was actually coming to get a bottle of wine, but this is so much better.”

Sam raised his bottle and Dean clicked his own bottle with Sam’s. “To living our dreams and defying John’s fucking stupid wishes,” Sam said.

“Cheers.”

***

Castiel was exhausted after spending most of the afternoon trying to keep Bobby from trying to ditch his family. Apparently, nobody bothered to take the keys away from him, and at his first chance, he tried fleeting the scene.

Now Castiel finally had time to take a nice bath and shave his face, which had managed to grow a scruffy beard in the last couple days.

The bathroom door was opened without a knock, and Castiel was just realizing that he forgot to lock it. He hadn’t exactly gone into his bath yet, and at least he wasn’t completely nude. Well, except for the towel wrapped around his hips, he _was_ naked. But that didn’t seem to bother Dean Winchester.

Dean stood there, by the door, paralyzed, almost like he’d been caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Sorry,” Dean said, backing away. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“That’s okay, Dean. I don’t mind.” Castiel put away his newly acquired (from John) shaving cream and razor, and turned to Dean, reclining against the sink. “Do you need to take a shower?”

Dean raised both his eyebrows, somehow taken aback by the question. He was struggling not to look below Castiel’s neck, but he caught Dean glancing at his abdomen. Cas hadn’t been lying about working out. But he didn’t say anything. It was enough to have Dean all flustered again.

“No, I’m good,” Dean finally said, swallowing. “Do you need a towel?”

Cas pointed at his waist. “I already have one, but thanks.”

Dean let himself completely into the bathroom, closing the door before taking one step forward. Castiel became interested, and he flexed his shoulders, resting his hands on the sink he was nearly sitting on.

It only took a few more steps for Dean to breach the distance between them. He got close to Castiel, again, as close as he’d been when they’d walked outside in the snow. But fuck, Dean was such a tease. And Castiel knew he would never act on whatever this was between them. It was truly frustrating.

They both leaned in at the same time, not wasting another possible second they could have been stuck lip to lip. Dean moaned when Castiel took his mouth like a winning prize. Before Castiel took hold of Dean’s face, sliding up to tangle on his hair, Dean’s hands traveled the length down Castiel’s bare chest, gripping at the skin as much as he could. The mutual hunger between them heated the air, and the bathroom was suddenly a sauna.

“Cas,” Dean gasped, pulling away to kiss at his jaw, moving his hands to Castiel’s back and burying his fingers deep into his skin. The pressure felt glorious.

Castiel moved his hands back to Dean’s face and guided his lips back to the direction of his mouth. Dean kissed him back, and Castiel groaned with a desperate need to have more. With complete deliberation, Castiel pressed his tongue to Dean’s lips and Dean allowed him access. When their tongues met, Dean used his hands on Castiel’s back to pull him closer, so that every part of them touched.

“Fuck, Dean,” Cas moaned, giving an intense push of his hips to Dean, and he was proud when he felt a bulge beneath Dean’s jeans.

Dean pulled away, suddenly. “Holy crap,” Dean said, breathlessly.

“ _I know_. Get back here,” Castiel pulled Dean to him, again, since he hadn’t even attempted to remove his hands from Dean's face. He managed to get a few more heated kisses, enough to get Dean excited again, so much that Dean took Cas’ lower lip between his teeth, causing his legs to tremble with desire.

“No, Cas, _please_ , stop,” Dean said, taking a step back and removing every part of him from Castiel’s reach.

Castiel took a deep breath, attempting to stabilize his speeding heart. “Why?”

“I can think of a few reasons,” Dean said, running both of his hands through his hair.

Leaning back against the sink, Castiel tried to relax, although his twitching cock wouldn’t let him. “Okay.”

Dean frowned. “I should go.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m just going to lock the door for you,” Dean said, smiling slyly before walking out and leaving Castiel empty and alone.

***

It was one thing to pretend to be with Dean in front of his family, to play a part of Dean’s sick, twisted game. But it was a completely different story when Castiel attacked Dean’s lips like the world was ending and he wanted Dean to be the last taste in his mouth. And fuck, Dean wanted the same thing.

Nothing could guarantee that Castiel hadn’t just faked the whole thing in the bathroom. He’d proved to be an excellent liar so far. But why the hell would Castiel want to prove by kissing Dean in such indecent ways? Was he still playing the part Dean had forced him into, or was he acting on his own? What the fuck was that all about?

No, Dean couldn’t possibly get any ideas. He was already crazy enough. And that ring on his finger wasn’t even his. No matter how many kisses Castiel could give him, none of them were really Dean’s.

He ruffled through his clothes until he found his nicest suit, with his only black tie. Dean looked like a clown in that suit, the mirror proved it. But it was Christmas, after all, and he figured if they were all pretending, a little more sugarcoating wouldn’t hurt.

“You look really handsome.”

Startled, Dean jumped, turning around. Castiel stood on the doorframe, leaning against the wall. He was wearing the suit from the day Dean kidnapped him, though Dean never did return his tie.

“So do you,” Dean mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Is it going to be weird now between us?”

“If you keep sticking your tongue in my mouth, it might.”

Castiel laughed. “I can’t make any promises. But forget about that right now. I want to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“Follow me,” he said, turning and walking away.

Knowing he would probably regret this, Dean followed Castiel outside. Castiel stopped walking once they both reached the gazebo out in the back. It was dark and cold, and Dean was starving for some of Mary’s apple pie.

“What are we doing here, Cas? Do you want to have another snowball fight right now?”

Castiel scoffed, entering the gazebo. He flipped a switch, and hundreds of lights turned on. There were Christmas lights on the gazebo and all around on the trees surrounding it. Dean knew all these lights hadn’t been here before. Actually, last time anybody bothered putting so many lights up out here was on Dean’s twelfth birthday…

Shit.

“Cas, what's all of this for?”

With a wicked grin, Castiel walked back to Dean, wiggling his eyebrows in excitement. “I want you to play me one of your songs.”

“A song? Right now?”

Cas nodded encouragingly.

“It’s almost dinnertime and my hands are freezing,” Dean protested.

“Come on, Dean. Just one song. I want to hear you sing.”

Dean pondered his request. He’d probably sound a little bit rusty. He hadn’t played in weeks. “One song?”

“Yes. I have your guitar ready for you.” Castiel took Dean’s hand and pulled him into the gazebo, where the lights shone the brightest. “Sam told me it was in the trunk of your car.”

Sure enough. Dean’s old Taylor was propped on a stand in the gazebo, ready to be played. Dean turned to Cas. “How did you get in the trunk of my car?”

Castiel smiled sheepishly. “I found the plastic bag of keys hidden in the storage room earlier.”

“And instead of escaping you decided to do all this?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“You owe me a show, Dean Winchester,” Castiel accused. “I’m waiting.” He sat on the bench in the gazebo and stared at Dean, stubbornly.

Dean picked up his guitar and sat at the other end of the small gazebo. Castiel had his full attention on Dean, waiting to be no less than impressed. It was a lot of pressure, and Dean wasn’t lying about the cold.

“Which song do you want to hear?” Dean asked, stretching his fingers of one hand as he positioned his guitar with the other. Once he finally set her right against him, he felt at ease.

“Any,” Castiel answered, earnestly.

“Don’t fucking laugh,” Dean warned.

Castiel looked confused. “Why would I laugh at your music? That’d be rude.”

Dean breathed, long and hard, before proceeding with the performance. He decided to play the first song he’d ever written. It was filled with clichéd lines and unsuccessful rhythmic sequences, but Dean was still proud of his song. He’d written it with his first guitar. He still kept that old acoustic, even though it couldn’t play anymore. Dean kept it on display at his apartment because it always brought him pleasant memories.

Castiel watched him with something resembling awe, and when it became too much for Dean, he looked away and simply focused on playing and singing the right notes and strumming at the right time, and working his best with the natural echo of his surroundings. Castiel wasn’t the worst audience. In fact, he was the best Dean had had.

He listened, and he seemed to enjoy what he was listening, what Dean was playing.

If only they could stop time right at this moment. If only Dean could stay here forever, playing for Castiel, singing his favorite song, having those pretty blue eyes watching him with a powerful intensity.

If only life were that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics in this chapter were written at my request by my amazing friends, Nicole and Ernesto. You can find Nicole's ao3 account here: [Alwaysthecatlady](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaystheCatLady)


	4. Chapter 4

The colorful room smelled of cinnamon and the delicious meal Mary and Sam had prepared earlier. Dean and Castiel sat together on the long rectangular table, and Sam and Bobby sat across from them. At one end of the table, John waited and watched as Mary set the plates in front of everybody, not once offering to help.

No wonder she was unhappy.

Mary took her seat at the head of the table and started eating.

Confused, Sam cleared his throat. “Mom? You’re not going to give a toast this year?”

“No, sweetheart,” Mary said, chewing on her food. “I’m really hungry.”

Sam nodded. “Well, I have something to say.” He looked to Dean, and Dean gave him a small nod of encouragement.

“What is it, Samuel?” John asked, carefully.

Sam went from frightened to smug as soon as John butted into the conversation. Dean thought Sam would need more of a motivation to say the truth, but it turned out he didn’t. “I dropped out of law school last semester because the last thing I want is to be a lawyer.”

“What the hell?” John said, sounding as though someone had gutted him. “Sam, you can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” Sam said. “I’ve been using all of the tuition money to save up for a coffee shop I’m going to open. I’m giving the down payment when I go back. It’s all worked out, dad. I’m doing this whether you like it or not.”

Mary laughed, spitting out the wine she had been sipping on. “That’s so great, Sam. Do you have a name for the shop already?”

“It’s going to be called Crossroad Blues Coffee Shop,” Sam said with a smile. “I might already have an investor lined up, but we haven’t settled anything yet.”

John hit his fist on the table, making everybody jump up on their seats. “You’re damn wrong if you think I am going to let you drop out of law school after three years. You’re going to reenroll, get your fucking degree, and go and make me and your mother proud.”

“Speak for yourself, John,” Mary said, bitterly. “Sam and Dean make me very proud just the way they are. I’m not going to force them to live the life you couldn’t have just so you have something to live for.”

Scowling, John clenched his jaw. “Mary, what is _wrong_ with you?”

Mary downed her glass of wine, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You really want to know what’s wrong with me, John? Is that really what you want?”

“Yes!” he shouted, leaning forward. “For fuck’s sake, you’re as nuts as your children.”

“For starters, I hate sleeping on the same bed with you night after night, because you snore too loud and you push me to the edge, leaving me no space to stretch my arms out. You suck the chicken bones for a good twenty minutes after you finish eating, and it is absolutely disgusting! And you leave your dirty underwear on the sink like a trophy, but you expect me to clean up after you without a single complaint, you asshole.”

“Oh, so you think you’re perfect?” John demanded, getting out of his chair, glaring down at Mary. “Is that why you want to pretend our lives are so great? Is that why you decided that we all like each other enough to spend another Christmas stuck in this suffocating place? I go along with every stupid whim of yours and all I get in exchange is an ungrateful family.”

Sam scoffed. “Why should we be grateful? For forcing Dean and me to do the exact opposite of what we wanted?”

Dean turned to Castiel, and he was looking out of place and terrified. Dean reached for his hand under the table, and Castiel attempted to smile.

“Do not get in the middle of this, Samuel,” John warned. “This is between me and your mother.”

Mary sighed, pouring herself another glass of wine. “I have nothing else to say to you, John.”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand.

“I always knew this family was insane,” Bobby grunted, taking a swig of his flask.

After an unbearably awkward beat of silence, the front door was kicked open, hitting the wall behind it with force and causing a few frames to land on the floor.  Three policemen ran inside holding their guns, yelling, “Everybody freeze, put your hands up!”

They did as they were told, and Dean gaped at Cas as he released his hand. Castiel looked immediately guilty, and Dean took a deep breath, turning to the officers.

“What is going on here?” Mary asked, perplexed.

“It had to be all of your screaming,” John mumbled.

One of the cops turned to Dean. “We have reason to believe that man kidnapped Castiel Novak.”

Mary shook her head and waved at the cops, as though this was a misunderstanding. “That can’t be possible, officer. Castiel is my son’s boyfriend. Actually, they just became engaged to be married. Right, honey?”

With all the shame in the world, Dean faced Mary. “No, mom, I forced him to come here with me,” Dean confessed, knowing there was no way out of this.

Castiel frowned, his cheeks turning red. “I’m not his boyfriend.”

And the truth was finally out.

***

Dean couldn’t think of a worst time and place to be locked in a confined space with his entire family. It appeared that the Winchesters were the only criminals on Christmas because they made up the entire jail cell.

Castiel hadn’t been lying about sending Dean to jail.

Nobody was talking to Dean. John was beyond infuriated, so much so that no one dared to be near him. Mary looked angry, but mostly she looked on the verge of tears. Sam was giving Dean his best version of a bitchface. The only person who seemed unsurprised and unbothered was Bobby, who had pulled his cap down to cover his face and was attempting to sleep.

They had spent all night in this place, and it seemed like a never ending world of suck.

“Mom, please don’t cry,” Dean begged.

With a strangled sob, she turned to Dean. “Kidnapping? Why would you do such a thing, Dean?”

“Mom.”

“What did you have to do to force Castiel to pretend he was in love with you? Were you drugging him, too?”

Dean rubbed at his forehead. “I never meant for any of this to get this far. I’m sorry I did this. He knows that too.” _Yeah, so what if he knows it?_ Dean still screwed up.

“I feel responsible for everything that happened,” Mary mumbled, holding back her tears. “If we hadn’t driven you to the edge, you wouldn’t have kidnapped an innocent person.”

“Do not dare bring me into this mess,” John said from his corner of the cell.

A cop approached their cell, suddenly, and Dean couldn’t be happier to hear the jiggling of keys. He unlocked the iron door and opened it. “Novak didn’t press charges, so you’re all free to go.”

Dean felt a wave of thrill travel through his body, but he didn’t let it overpower him. Cas not pressing charges didn’t mean anything. Maybe he figured it wasn’t worth the time seeing Dean in jail after all.

Allowing his family to exit the cell before him, Dean let them go without saying goodbye and he went to retrieve his items that were retained from him. Among them was the engagement ring Castiel had given him and it almost burned to touch it again. He put it in his pocket and left.

As Dean was walking down the steps of the county jail, he saw the last person he expected to see, waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase. Castiel was wearing the same tan trenchcoat he wore on the day Dean kidnapped him, and when he turned, Dean knew he couldn’t simply walk past him in an attempt to evade him. Besides, Dean still had to return the ring that didn’t belong to him.

Castiel was smiling, despite everything, and Dean couldn’t help but return the smile, no matter how weak it felt.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said pleasantly.

“Hey.”

“Are you okay? Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, but they all hate me.” Dean scratched the back of his head. “Thanks for not letting me rot in prison like you’d promised me.”

Castiel took a step forward, and Dean craved the closeness, even now. “I didn’t mean for any of you to spend the night in jail. I honestly forgot I’d make that call to—never mind.”

“Well, anyway, I think you should have this back,” Dean said, pulling out the shiny ring from his pocket and giving it to Castiel.

“Yeah, thanks.” Castiel took the ring and transferred it to his own pocket, and then he dug his hands into his jacket. “Dean, I know we didn’t really have time to talk about what happened between us. I know it’s confusing. Our whole situation is confusing, but what you and I did, or what we could have done—”

“Castiel,” a young dark haired girl said. She was in a long expensive coat and wearing actual fucking high heels on a winter morning. “I was looking all over for you. Can’t run away from me again.” She took notice of Dean and made a face like she’d tasted a lemon. “Who is _that_?”

“Give me a moment, Daphne,” Castiel said, facing her with clear annoyance. “I need to talk with him.”

“Is that _him_?” Daphne—apparently—asked. “That’s the man that kidnapped you and took you away from me? With my engagement ring?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Daphne, please don’t.”

But Daphne ignored Castiel as she pushed him aside to stand inches in front of Dean. The girl was so small, but Dean still recognized a threat in her, and it wasn’t a physical danger.

“How fucking dare you talk to him?” Daphne demanded, careful not to raise her voice enough to catch anyone’s attention. “After all you caused?”

Dean gritted his teeth, trying to fight against his innermost desire to hit a girl for the first time. He knew it was wrong, but damn it he wanted it. “I apologized to Castiel already.”

“I don’t care about your apologies,” Daphne said, folding her arms and stomping her feet. “If it were up to me, you and the rest of your kind would still be in jail. Castiel doesn’t have the guts to hurt anyone, but if you come close to him, I won’t let him stop me from making sure you pay for what you’ve done.”

Dean looked to Castiel, and the man seemed angry, but not angry enough to do something.

“Let’s go,” Daphne said, pulling Castiel by his arm.

“Hang on,” Castiel said, but there wasn’t much will in his voice to fight her.

“Castiel,” she said, sternly this time, and she pulled on his arm again. This time, Castiel let her move him, away from Dean.

Not breaking eye contact with Dean, Castiel frowned at him. “Take care of yourself, Dean.”

“You, too.”

“Castiel,” Daphne whined.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel managed to say before he was dragged completely away by the annoying, snotty bitch of his girlfriend.

And as Dean watched him go, he knew the chances of ever seeing Castiel again were slim. It was his own damn fault. Did Dean truly believe this would end well for him?

***

**Valentine’s Day…**

“How are you holding up, Dean?” Ash asked, sliding him a drink over the counter.

Dean took a deep breath. “Still unemployed. I keep missing my job interviews. I think part of me just doesn’t want to get the job.”

“I’d love to help you, man, but Ellen said she can’t trust you anymore.” Ash shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s all right. I don’t even know why I keep sending out my recordings to all these indie record labels. I doubt they’ll even listen to my songs. It’s what I get for believing I actually had a chance to prove I was good at what I love doing.”

“Drink your beer, you’re depressing me,” Ash said, bouncing his palm on the counter. “I know what you need. You need a drinking buddy.” Ash grabbed another beer and walked around the counter to sit beside Dean. “Feel better?”

Dean laughed. “Much better.”

Ash took a long sip of his beer. “Any special plans for tonight?”

“No,” Dean said with a long sigh. “You?”

“I think I’m going to go steady with Pam,” Ash said. “We’ve had this weird friends with benefits thing for a few months, but I kinda just want to date her.”

Dean looked surprised. “Really? You and Pam? Huh. Well, good for you. Glad you’re settling down with someone.”

“Yeah,” Ash said absently, taking another drink. “What about you? Haven’t found any more VPs to kidnap lately?”

Dean rolled his eyes, though the comment stung a little. “I haven’t even heard from Castiel. At all. For all I know, that girlfriend of his put a collar around his neck and threw him to her backyard.”

“Jealousy is a bitch.”

“I’m not jealous, Ash,” Dean said, and he was sure about that. “I can’t believe I thought I had feelings for a man I kidnapped. The whole thing is so stupid. I just feel bad for the guy. Last time I saw him his girlfriend had him on a tight leash. That’s now way to live life.”

“If you say so,” Ash said.

Dean picked up the newspaper he’d brought into the bar to search for more job opening. Hell, he was so desperate he was considering a fast food chain. Any one of them. He had a lot of open options.

When Dean opened the newspaper, he noticed a wedding announcement. His first thought was, _are you fucking serious people still do this?_ But as he focused on the picture of the happy couple, Dean felt his insides slowly melt with a fire that spurred from the inside out.

Castiel Novak and Daphne Allen were officially engaged. Their wedding was just around the corner.

Fuck.

Dean had been kidding himself earlier. Seeing Castiel with that horrible woman devastated Dean, more than he wanted to accept. And it wasn’t just because of what he possibly felt for Castiel, it was because he knew Castiel wasn’t happy. He could see it in his face when Daphne was near, and even on the picture.

Fuck.

The shittiest part was that Dean couldn’t do anything, now. He was simply going to accept the fact that he’d lost Castiel forever. What an absurd thought to have, when Castiel had never even been _his_.

***

Wedding invitations. Wedding decorations. Wedding pictures. Wedding planning in general had become Castiel’s most recent life, and it was painful and unbearable at times.

He never did tell Daphne was happened at the cabin, much less that he’d put the ring that was now on her finger on Dean first. He also left out the detail in which he savagely kissed Dean in the bathroom, or the way that kissed had ruined Castiel for good.

But Daphne seemed content with all the wedding preparations. She wanted to spend more money on the actual wedding event rather than on getting a place of their own. It was as though she expect everything to flow magically after the wedding.

God, just thinking about the wedding made Castiel uneasy. The thing was, he was too far in to back out of it now. And maybe he could just settle for Daphne and see where life took him from there. He could form the family he always pictured with Daphne and be somewhat satisfied. That’s what he wanted before everything changed, before he met Dean.

Daphne was going through the guest list, trying to form the perfect seating arrangement. “What if we put the Miltons with the Gallaghers?”

“What?” Castiel said, pulled away from his thought process.

“You do realize we have two weeks until our wedding, right?”

Castiel swallowed. “Yes. Put the Miltons with the Gallaghers. I’m sure they’ll get along.” Cas rose from the chair he’d been sitting at for the past two hours. “I’m going to get some fresh air outside.”

“Don’t take too long,” Daphne said.

Unable to take another second in this asphyxiating house, Castiel opened the front door and sat on the top step, resting his head on his hands.

The only thought that would help him gain courage was of Dean. If it were Dean inside, Castiel wouldn’t have the need to stay away. If it were Dean who Castiel was marrying, he would be ecstatic.

But this was his reality…right? He _had_ to marry Daphne.

“Castiel,” Daphne said, in that high pitch tone he never liked. “Come back inside. I need your opinion on things.”

“Okay,” he said, walking back into the house he also never liked.

Daphne turned to head back to the living room when Castiel stopped her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“What do you want?” Daphne asked. “We can talk and walk at the same time. No time to waste.”

“Why do you want to marry me, Daphne?” Castiel wondered, genuinely curious.

Daphne raised her eyebrows. “Is this a serious question? You’re not taking back your proposal, are you?”

“I just want you to tell me why you want to marry me, of all people?”

Daphne grinned, placing a hand to Castiel’s chest. “Because we’re good together, Castiel. We’re both beautiful, and I’m working hard to make sure our wedding is the envy of everyone. We’ll have the perfect marriage, and we will have one son named Sebastian.”

“See? This is what I’m talking about. You’re not being realistic about any of this.”

Daphne groaned. “If you’re going to marry me, you’re going to have to do as I say. And I say we have no time for more silly discussions. Help me figure out this next sitting arrangement.” She turned and stomped her feet away.

Castiel had his answer.

***

It had taken some time before Sam forgave Dean, but eventually he did, and today Dean had been invited to perform at his coffee shop. The Crossroad Blues Coffee Shop was in Kansas City, on a well known street that attracted plenty of customers. Dean knew this business would be a success, and he was so happy for Sam.

Dean walked in with his guitar at hand. He noticed the inside of the coffee shop was painted a teal color, and there were all sorts of artwork, just like Sam had promised. Most of the space was taken up with long bright yellow couches and individual beanbags for those who were actually young.

What drew Dean’s attention was the stage set up at the center of the room. It wasn’t against the wall, like most stages were. The thought of having to entertain an audience, not just play for them, caused Dean to panic. He would have to move around in order to play for his entire audience, to engage them in.

Dean estimated about twenty-five to thirty people at the moment, and even though the place was bigger than your average Starbucks, Dean still felt it was more than packed. Sam was standing in front of the counter, greeting people and making suggestions for coffee.

According to the schedule Sam had given him, Dean was performing first. Dean had his set list in his other hand, wrinkling it unintentionally. Sam noticed Dean and excused himself, approaching Dean.

“Busy first day,” Dean commented.

Sam smiled. “I can’t believe this is actually happening. I fucking did it!”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

Laughing, his younger brother took Dean on a hug. “I’m so excited for you, Dean. This is your first real performance!”

“You really didn’t have to pay me to play.”

Sam punched Dean’s arm, playfully. “Yes, I did. I only hired experienced bands and singers to play tonight. It’s opening night, I want to give the crowd a good show.”

“That is a shitload of pressure, Sammy. Thanks,” Dean mumbled, staring back at the front door that kept chiming every time the door swung open. More people kept walking in, and Dean noticed they were all carrying neon colored flyers. “Is the whole bright colors a theme at this place?” Dean wondered.

Sam nodded, looking proud. “It hurts to look at bright colors, doesn’t it? But it’s almost like you want to look away, but you can’t,  so you read the flyer and find out every drink is buy one get one half off, and you get your butt in here. Also, I might have mentioned a long lost American legend will be performing tonight.”

Dean blinked at Sam. “Who’s playing? Is it Vanilla Ice?”

With a look that looked more like a glare, Sam shook his head. “Dean, please don’t ever make those stupid assumptions again. I’m going to pretend I don’t even know you right now.”

“Come on, tell me,” Dean said, laughing.

“It’s you!” Sam said.

Dean would have fallen down on one of the couches, had they not all been completely full. “Why the fuck would you lie to these people, Sammy? You know they won’t keep coming here if you make all these false promises.”

“I’m not lying, Dean,” Sam said, folding his arms to show that he meant business. “I think you deserve more fame that some of those untalented bastards on the media. I’m sure everyone’s going to love you, and don’t you argue with me. Go get ready because you’re up first.”

“Can’t I at least try some of your coffee?” Dean asked, measuring his distance to the front door. Maybe, if he acted fast, he could be out of here in a few seconds. There was no way Sam would leave his shop behind to go after Dean.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sam said, placing a hand on Dean’s back and guiding him to the front counter.

Dean ordered a coffee, on the house, and hung his guitar on his back as he took small sips from it. And hell, Sam wasn’t lying when he claimed to have found the perfect recipe. This coffee was like a magical wonderland of fucking goodness. Sam had definitely made the right choice by doing what he actually wanted to do. Now he wasn’t miserable, and he was responsible for some of the best coffee Dean had ever had.

Sam looked suddenly alarmed, and he made a beeline to Dean, blocking his view. It wasn’t hard to do, since Sam was ridiculously taller than Dean.

“They’re here,” Sam said.

“Who’s here?” Dean asked, trying to peak at whatever Sam was hiding.

Sam breathed, relaxing just slightly. “Our parents.”

“WHAT?”

“I invited them. Dad _did_ pay for most of this,” Sam said, shrugging.

Dean shoved Sam aside, and sure enough, Mary and John had just walked in, looking both excited and confused.

“Why did they even agree to come?” Dean wondered. “They’re just lining  themselves up for disappointment."

Sam snorted. “Dean, they’re not as bad as they used to be. They’ve been going to counseling over the past few weeks, and they actually wanted to come and see you play.”

“Why?”

Exasperated, Sam rolled his eyes. “Because they are our _family_ , Dean. Go say hi, but make it quick, ‘cause you’re up in five.”

After giving Dean a push, Sam watched Dean approaching his parents. Mary was holding John’s hand and their first reaction when seeing Dean was to smile. Both of them smiled, like they had simply forgotten how badly Dean had screwed up.

“Hi,” Dean said.

John placed a hand to Dean’s shoulder. “Hope we didn’t miss the show.”

“No, I was just about to get up there.”

Mary wrapped her arms around Dean, uninvited, but definitely not unwelcome. “Dean, I am so happy you’re finally doing this,” she whispered in his ear. “I love you so much.”

Dean stared at his mother once she let him go, feeling vulnerable, but at the same time, confident. “Thank you for coming,” Dean finally said. “I’m…I’m glad you could make it.”

His parents regarded him for another moment, and Dean could feel his stomach churning with more excitement than fear. For once, Dean actually felt ready. He’d spent too long away from his dream, and now everything was set up almost perfectly for Dean to play and finally feel at home.

So Dean got on the center stage, unpacked his Taylor, and adjusted it comfortably on his lap. He plugged in his guitar, and glanced up at the full house. His favorite pick was at hand, and Dean angled the mike to his mouth, testing it.

“Hello, everyone,” Dean mumbled, hoping his voice was amplified enough to be audible.

Sam was smiling at him, giving him two thumbs up. Dean resisted the urge to look down at his feet. Instead, he tried to enjoy the watching audience. They were all at least mildly content because of the coffee, so Dean didn’t need to have so much pressure on his shoulders.

Dean introduced himself to the people in the audience. They seemed friendly enough. After taking one long breath, Dean rose from the chair on the stage, hung the guitar strap around his neck, and turned to address the audience behind him. This was definitely a new type of fear. Dean was being watched from every direction, and he wasn’t even sure he remembered how to play guitar anymore.

That wasn’t plausible. Dean had spent the last couple of weeks practicing nonstop. When he walked in tonight, Dean had been more than prepared. But now? Now he was nervous and scared, and still shocked that his parents were here to support him.

Unable to put it off any longer, Dean started playing. He gave his Taylor a few strums, starting up the correct rhythm. Dean sang into the mike, wishing with all his might that his voice wouldn’t crack. But it didn’t. He sang and he played on because a slow clapping was happening in the audience, and Dean realized that they were clapping along to the song, joining him.

Dean beamed, and a few teenage girls giggled, overly excited. Dean continued with his song.

 _I wanted to meet you, baby_  
 _I wanted to meet you, my friend_  
Please don’t leave me hanging  
I needed to see you, again

It wasn’t until his fifth song that Dean sat back on his chair. He closed his eyes and sang softly into the microphone, no longer worried about his voice cracking or what the audience would think of him if he fucked up. No, his music had always been about projecting some sort of genuine emotion, and that’s what he did.

Dean brought his last song to an end, and the loud, vibrant clapping ensued. There was cheering, too. Opening his eyes, Dean searched for his parents. John and Mary were standing up, still clapping their hands. The pride in their eyes was easily recognizable.

Holy shit. His parents were fucking proud of Dean. _For making music._

***

Sam congratulated Dean first, and he assured him that people were not disappointed in discovering the long lost American legend. Dean still couldn’t believe how absurd that title sounded, and unfitting.

John and Mary could not stop repeating how proud they were of Dean, and it was a brand new experience when a few people from the audience came up to Dean to praise his music. Some even asked to take pictures with him.

By the time Dean left the coffee shop, the place was still packed, and Sam decided to let them his customers stay longer than closing time, only letting his employees go. Dean wished Sam good luck and bid him goodbye.

The still cold air outside greeted Dean in the dark night. The downside of being on this side of town was the lack of parking space. Dean had to abandon his Impala on some parking garage a few minutes walking distance. With a reluctant sigh, Dean made his way to his car.

“Don’t move,” someone said from behind. He was speaking with a gruff, deep voice Dean couldn’t recognize. But what he did recognize was the tip of a gun pointed to his back.

“Don’t shoot,” Dean said cautiously, raising his hands. There _was_ such a thing called karma, and it was a bitch. “I have money. Let me take out my wallet. You don’t have to do this.”

After a beat of Dean praying for his life in the cold silence, Dean felt a piece of cloth fall over his head, blindfolding him.

“What are you doing? Look, I’ve been on the other side, and even if you think you won’t, you _will_ end up in jail.”

“Shut up,” the voice said, taking Dean hands and pulling them to his back. Dean jumped when he felt something cold around his wrists, and a once he heard a sharp click, he realized he’d been handcuffed. What a twisted joke of the universe.

Dean licked his chapped lips. “Just let me go. You can walk away from this. Please.”

Suddenly, the man—because Dean assumed it was a man—put his hands in every one of Dean’s pockets, feeling for something. When the man found his wallet, Dean thought he would take it and leave him, but he put the wallet back. On his left pocket, the man found Dean’s keys and he pulled them out.

“Don’t take my baby,” Dean begged. “I’ll do whatever you want, but please don’t take my car.”

The man laughed, actually laughed. “Keep walking,” he said, poking Dean’s back again with the gun.

“Are you going to torture me before you kill me?” Dean asked abruptly. He knew he should probably keep his mouth shut right now, but he was almost certain he was going to die tonight, regardless of what he said.

“I am going to make you beg for mercy,” the man said in that same deep voice. “All night long.”

Dean swallowed, picturing the situation he’d have to be put in for him to go to those extremes. “Shit.”

The man laughed again, and something about his laugh completely threw Dean off. He wasn’t laughing maniacally or anything. He was just laughing like he found actual amusement in Dean. And that tiny fact made Dean feel a little better.

Though not so much.

When they finally reached the Impala, or so Dean assumed was his Impala, the man shoved Dean on the passenger seat and buckled him in. A few moments later, he started the car and started driving.

Dean should have been more worried about his promised night of torture, but instead he was furious that this psycho was driving his Impala.

“If you wreck her, or leave any scratch on her, I swear to God I will murder you.” Dean clenched his cuffed fists.

“I’m not here to hurt your car, Dean,” the man said patiently. “I’m just here for you.”

“How do you know my name?” Dean asked, turning to the direction where he knew the man was, hoping he could develop x-ray vision so he could see his face.

The man was quiet, and then he said, “I’m a big fan of your music.”

“Oh God, couldn’t you have waited until I actually sold a record?”

“Idiot,” the man muttered.

After one of the longest drives of Dean’s life, the vehicle came to a slow stop and Dean waited until the man unbuckled his seatbelt to try to take off running blindly.

The man laughed, watching Dean run like a…like a wild chicken without its head. Dean turned to the sound of the laughter, approaching it, because as he listened closely, he could finally note a distinctive sound in it.

Apparently, Dean had been walking the wrong direction because the man gripped both of Dean’s arms and pointed him to the right direction.

“If you didn’t look so cute right now I’d probably keep this going,” the man said, but his voice was now normal. The voice belonged to Cas. The blindfold came off, and Dean was once again face to face with his kidnapper.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked, debating on whether or not to be angry. “I thought it was your wedding day.”

Castiel smiled. “So you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Of course not,” Dean said, offended. “But your damn picture was all over the papers, what did you want me to do? Look away?”

Placing a hand on Dean’s cheek, Castiel frowned at Dean, at once apologetic. “I think you are absolutely crazy, I honestly do. And I hate the way you constantly put yourself down like you’re actually your own worst enemy. But I should also say that I made a mistake going back to Daphne. If it weren’t for you, I probably would have married her, like I had originally planned.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Why do you think, assbutt?”

“Because you’re just as crazy as I am,” Dean deadpanned. “And your achy breaky heart just couldn’t go on without me.”

Castiel threw his head back in laughter. His laughter faded, and he turned to Dean with a wide grin. “Something like that,” he said.

“Can you get these cuffs off of me?” Dean reminded him. “They’re a bit tight.”

“You miss those furry ones?”

“I miss when we didn’t have to use handcuffs at all,” Dean said.

Castiel kissed him, smiling as he unlocked the handcuffs with a skill Dean didn’t know he had. When he pulled away, releasing Dean from the pressure on his wrists, he looked to his surrounding for the first time.

They were parked on the driveway of a condo. It was the only one with the porch light on. The place looked huge, and warm, despite the freezing temperature outside.

“Where are we?” Dean wondered.

“Home,” Castiel replied. “Do you like it?”

“It’s great, Cas. But why did you bring me here?”

Castiel opened the door and took Dean’s hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Dean muttered.

Regardless, Castiel turned on a light and pushed Dean inside. The place was empty, aside from a coffee table in the living room.

“Are you moving out?”

“Moving in, actually,” Cas said, closing the front door and looking around at the desolate place. “I just bought it.”

“Oh.”

“I wanted you to see it first,” Cas said, unable to contain his excitement.

Dean walked to the coffee table when he noticed an object resting on it. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe that his CD had landed in Castiel’s hands. He sure as hell wasn’t selling them tonight. Unless Castiel went into his house somehow and took it, then Dean couldn’t find another possible explanation.

He picked up the familiar copy of one of his CDs. It didn’t have Dean’s picture on it. Instead, the cover was a picture of his Impala. Nothing truly came close to the love between a man and his car. Although, Dean could think of one exception at the moment.

“Where did you get this?” Dean asked, turning to Castiel.

Castiel approached him, looking from the CD to Dean. “You sent it to me.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t, Cas. I only sent them out to record labels.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Exactly.”

Dean was confused. “What do you mean? You own a record label?”

With a shrug, Castiel took Dean’s CD out of his hands and set it back on his coffee table. “There are so many things you still don’t know about me, Dean.”

Dean blinked. “Cas—”

“I believe in your music and talent,” Castiel said easily, like they were just words, and not life-changing words to Dean. “I already got the process started. We sent out a letter that should arrive to you by Monday.”

“How long, exactly, have you been planning this?” Dean asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper. It was like all the oxygen had suddenly disappeared.

Castiel cupped Dean’s face with both hands, gazing into his eyes. “Last week I was tempted to go to your house, but I thought kidnapping you tonight would be more appropriate.”

“How did you know I was playing tonight?”

“I’ve been in contact with Sam,” Castiel admitted. “He recorded the whole show for me.”

Dean shook his head, smiling. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I think I did,” Cas said. “Because now we are truly even.”

“Fuck, I could just…”

“Me, too.”

Dean couldn’t handle it any longer. He pushed Castiel up against the long blank wall and crushed his lips with his own. Castiel gripped Dean’s hair and kissed him back, with kisses that ranged from soft and full of emotion to desperate, passionate ones.

Little was needed for Dean to gain access inside Castiel’s mouth. Dean licked the top of his mouth, savoring the little moans that escaped from Castiel. He pressed his hips to Castiel’s, tight enough for the other man to gasp for air.

“Bedroom,” Castiel breathed, and Dean circled his arms around Castiel’s waist, pressing them closer. “I have a bed.”

“Thank God,” Dean mumbled, angling Castiel’s mouth back to his because it just tasted that great.

Dean allowed Castiel to guide him, again, even though he wasn’t blindfolded, Dean still couldn’t manage to think properly as his hands worked on undressing Castiel.

The long tan trenchcoat fell on the bedroom floor, and Dean’s jacket flew across the room. Castiel had been right about the bed. And Dean couldn’t help but smile, thinking that Cas really did have everything planned.

“I don’t know how,” Castiel said, kissing down Dean’s neck, working to remove his button down shirt. “I don’t know when,” Castiel continued, moving his hands slowly down Dean’s chest until he buried his fingers between Dean’s waist and his jeans. “But I fell in love with you.”

Dean shivered as his shirt rolled off his arms and a slow trail of kisses traveled from his neck down to his belly button. “Did you?” Dean managed to gasp.

“Mmmm,” Castiel replied, unzipping Dean’s jeans and pulling them down along with his boxer briefs.

“Can’t be too sure, but I think I know the—” Dean sucked in a breath when Castiel gave a small tug at Dean’s cock, enveloping it in his warm, calloused hands. “—exact time I fell in love with you.”

“When, Dean?” Castiel stared up at Dean with dark blue eyes and puffed up lips.

“When I woke up with you…” Dean trailed off, tangling his fingers on Castiel’s hair as his cock was introduced to Castiel’s skilled mouth. “…when your leg was on me.”

Castiel swallowed Dean, almost wholly, and Dean threw his head back in utter bliss. With a pop, Castiel released him, taking the last remains of Dean’s sanity with him. “Get on the bed,” Castiel said, kissing Dean’s lips again, and Dean could taste himself in his mouth. God, it was glorious.

Dean lied on the bed, on his back, leaning up on his elbows as Castiel went through a duffle bag on the floor. He pulled out a condom and a tube of lube. “You really did come prepared,” Dean admired.

“I figured we could really break in this new bed,” Cas said, sitting between Dean’s open legs.

Although Dean admired Cas in a good-looking suit, he opted for peeling off the rest of his clothes as Castiel got things ready. Dean thought he’d never get tired of looking at Castiel’s chest, or his shoulders, and hell, his collarbone was just as gracious. Once Dean got him shirtless, he removed his pants and released his hard cock from the tight space in his briefs. “Fuck,” Dean said, tugging at Castiel’s hard-on.

“Shit, Dean,” Castiel groaned, smearing his fingers with a generous amount of lube. Castiel pressed one small finger to Dean’s opening, and Dean arched up, his body ready to let Cas in. Castiel bit his lip as he introduced his finger deep into Dean, and Dean let out a small yelp. “Did I hurt you?” Castiel asked.

“Keep going,” Dean encouraged. After a while, Castiel buried another lube-filled finger into Dean, and Dean pressed his eyes shut, panting with expectation.

“One more?” Castiel asked, as Dean started moving up and down, his cock bouncing on his belly.

Dean nodded, reaching for Castiel’s other hand and lacing their fingers. Castiel carefully moved a third finger inside Dean, sending a wave of pleasure through Dean.

“I want _you_ , Cas,” Dean managed to get out.

Castiel released Dean’s hand, working to subtly remove his fingers from Dean, only to replace it with the tip of his cock. One moment later, Castiel was deep inside Dean, slowly gaining more access as he sprawled on top of Dean completely. Dean took advantage of their closeness to press their lips together, hard.

With a sigh of relief, Castiel moved inside of Dean, holding Dean’s sides with need. Dean looked to him and the mere sight of Cas so deep in pleasure could make Dean come.

“Cas,” Dean said. Castiel opened his eyes, almost instantly, and when his eyes met Dean’s, he smiled eagerly.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Castiel said, kissing Dean once as he continued moving at a normal pace.

“I’m glad you kidnapped me,” Dean said. He would have laughed had Castiel not speeded the pace of his movements. And just when Dean thought he’d had enough, Castiel reach for Dean’s cock, and stroked it, rubbing his thumb against his shaft.

Castiel’s hips became frantic, and when his hands stopped moving on Dean’s cock, Dean kissed him, and continued kissing him as he came inside Dean. Castiel kissed lazily at Dean, stroking him again.

After another beat of seconds, Dean came in Castiel’s hands, moaning embarrassingly loud. Castiel pressed short kisses to Dean’s neck as they both fell off their high into a peaceful, dreamy state.

***

They both went to the Crossroad Blues Coffee Shop for breakfast the next morning, since Castiel didn’t even own a fridge in his condo.

Sam was making the coffee this morning, it seemed. He stood in an apron behind the counter. Sam turned to them, smiling. “Fucking finally. Did he do the whole kidnapping thing?”

“I did,” Castiel said, smugly.

“I thought he was going to murder me,” Dean complained. “I can’t believe you were okay with this, Sam.”

Castiel threw an arm around Dean’s shoulder. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t like it _that much_ ,” Dean said.

Sam laughed. “So, what can I get you?”

“Two coffees and two bagels,” Cas said. “And some serious luck because I still have something to ask Dean.”

“Coming right up,” Sam said. “And I don’t think Dean’s going to be much of a problem.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, hating being left out of these secret conversations.

“Let’s go sit down,” Cas offered, sitting at an empty table.

Dean sat across from him, paying full attention, especially at Castiel’s seriousness. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Cas started, looking more nervous than Dean had been last night before he got up on stage. “I didn’t just show you my condo last night for nothing,” he continued.

“Oh, I know it wasn’t just for nothing,” Dean said. “I thought we already settled that part.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but his cheeks gained a little bit of color. “I know it’s probably too soon, but I thought you might like the idea.”

“What idea?” Dean asked slowly.

“Do you want to move in with me?” Castiel blurted out quickly. “I don’t want you to feel pressured in any way. And it doesn’t have to be anything more than roommates. Of course, if you wanted something more…well, that is something I want, too.”

Dean blinked for a moment. Sam brought their coffees and bagels over personally, but as he sensed the tight air, he took a few steps back and ran back to the counter.

“Cas, I have been dying to get out of my loft,” Dean admitted. “For years. Basically, since the day I moved in.”

“Okay,” Castiel said, waiting for Dean to continue.

“Fuck yeah, I want to move in with you,” he said.

Castiel sighed, sounding relieved. “So, we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this,” Dean agreed, sipping Sam’s delicious coffee.

Castiel tried it, also. “Hmm. This _is_ good.”

Dean and Castiel ate their breakfast together, enjoying the soothing environment of the coffee shop. It occurred to Dean that this was their first real breakfast together, of many more to come.

This, he could get used to.


End file.
